Mountain creatures, little and big, settle down
In the home of the summer-lady,
After the cease of the spring fanfare
Of the loud creek and heaving earth.
Her smorgasbord richer and stronger in taste
Than the season before.
Young ferns’ curls loosen to reach the stars,
To learn the unknown,
Skinny legs of the offspring got stronger,
Mamas and the youngsters roam the hills and valleys
For the berries and whatnot,
The moon guides the strayed fawn,
Till she smells the doe.
Squirrels and chipmunks eye on the people picnic
Under the pine trees. They welcome the popcorns
Left behind but scurry away from
The dirty napkins and empty cans,
And the like.
Irate wind kicks them ‘round, rages at the sloppiness,
At the disrespect for the rec center of
The Mother’s Home.
Waterfall guffaws at the frolicking trout below,
Hawks cry above the tree-tops, sensing the
Stealthy autumn beckons from the distant mountain,
Warns the hikers for the elfish snowfall
On the high mountain, then they
Shrug it off, dance to the tree-wind-song.
* This poem first appeared in The Avocet, Summer 2020.
It has been over two weeks since my husband and I returned from our trip,
and we are fine, which means we didn’t catch coronavirus.
I thank my god!