Reflections In Nature
Lost in the Woods
A Poem

The great American beech stands tall, its autumn foliage scattered about, the scaly cones of the eastern white pines have run their course and lay with broken twigs and whatever else the forest has decided to discard. The crunch beneath my feet fills the quiet.
No one travels here other than the deer and the squirrel, and the wood thrush that sings its songs. There are fresh scrapes on the fissured bark of the mighty tulip, the black bear speaking a language only nature hears. I have no claws with which to speak and my voice has no melody.
Even the wind can be heard as it carries the words of the chattering forest, with the creaking and cracking of branches, the rustling of leaves as they tumble along. The aging white birch with its unfolding papery skin leans toward me and whispers, “Where are you going?”
I’ve been here and there and all around, rubbed my hands against the poplars and spruces, spotted the white-tailed stag as it grazed on tree shoots. I’ve heard the morning dove coo and searched for the great horned owl at night, yet this woodland looks unfamiliar to me.
In the distance, the sound of rushing water is grounding. The babbling brook bobs and weaves around roots and age- worn stone, through lush flora and down steep slopes, until it trails off to where the forest meets the open waters, carrying with it the silt of the world.






