It’s early afternoon as I climb the slope.
This morning two doe ascended this very trail
and the woods, now silent, save for the barking
of a dog on the other side of the valley,
were filled with birdsong, I had a conversation
with the cardinal. We often chat. Birds nap,
or so I think, mid-day. I’ve long thought
them wise. I like to picture them cradled
in this green, a gentle breeze rocking them,
dreaming little birdie dreams. I place my steps
softly, lest I disturb them. I rest at the base
of the ancient tree I call Mother Maple.
She stands near the crown of the slope
her broad limbs raised in celebration
to the sky regardless of the season.
She has a fine view. I pat her trunk
with my open palm, her life force flowing
into me bright as the afternoon sun
and as warm, as glad. She is why
I climbed. Just to say an up-close hello
on this lush, warm day in late July.