the path around these woods takes an hour to run.
it’s blocked in places by fallen trees,
and covered by ferns in others.
garter snakes sun on a slope of pine and oak,
and in one place there’s a deep ravine,
leading down to rocks and a stream,
where water speaks its way.
the trees who live here sleep the winter, silhouettes,
in spring they draw a light green breath,
and wake into the canopy that quivers overhead.
the birds who sheltered in the short cold days,
and searched for frozen grubs and berries,
have hatched their young,
and sing about each other,
and listen for worms,
and fly alongside insects.
in the fields, the vegetables are in,
and people like to fertilize and mulch,
and pick the crowded weeds,
and feel how good the rain and sun can be.
across the light blue sky, a thin white trail
behind a silver speck that flies at any time, for any reason,
disconnected from the Earth.
seven billion people
talking, eating, dancing, drinking, finding shelter,
raising buildings, cities,
an economy of numbers,
we’re a diamond with its many facets,
growing fragile in its size.
some people measure changes by the moon,
and recognize the times when Earth and life
conspire to be full.
they follow dreams,
and live with their relations.
move camp once or twice a year,
and leave a fallow wake.
the summer solstice finds me
at the beginning of the blueberry moon,
in the middle of daylight savings,
on this path around the woods.
breathe the air of summer,
grow with all this sun and air and water
a community to live
through fall and winter and the spring.