First snow of the year
sticks to grass tops and the edges of fence posts.
Along the cow trail are slick spots from the icy marsh
uphill towards the maples and old rock wall
the path splits in two.
Along contour run game trails,
and spots of red in the snow.
I stop, check the direction, look forward and back
red blobs in patches and groups, larger splats
bright red against white—and a hunters boot, following into the woods.
Downhill toward the safety of trees, through the roses, red
hips picked by mice or me
my own tracks adjacent, but headed uphill—
the ebb of two lives laid out slowly
into clean white snow.
Written 24 December 2022 in Vermont
I love this.