A Field of Scat

Late January, in the cold clear wood
Boots crunch through layers of snow and ice
Breath catches in beard and scarf
Freezing in the air before me
Leaves clatter in the wind between the otherwise still forest

A clearing, by man or fire,
out in an opening where the sun bursts through
signs of the denizens of the glen
in turned soil, crushed tracks of all sizes
and a field of scat, of the white-tailed deer

Saturating myself in the senses awoken
away from all but these sights and sounds
in the smell of the balsam and pine,
the taste of ice

Following the footfalls first of deer
then of vole and chipmunk
Watching the shape of stem and vine
of leaf and tree
the changed impressions of the land
under snow’s blanket

Losing time behind the lens
Luxuriating in the quiet
the simplicity, the peace
of that time and place


1/1/06 17:45
North Conway, NH, at least 6 years earlier
Photo by Ray Foss

All of my poems are copyrighted by Raymond A. Foss, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013. All rights reserved. Contact me at Ray Foss for usage. See all 26,510+ of my poems at www.raymondafoss.blogspot.com Poetry Where You Live.