Learning to listen
When you imagine the place
before you see it
old tracks, snow-filled
coming down off the ridge
when you pause there
boots stilled
and deer glide
among the whitened trees
then you may have begun learning
to listen
to the land.
The word that comes to me upon reading this poem is grace.
I didn’t comment on your last post, Tovar, not because I didn’t want to but because your words and sense of loss were so close to the bone that I had no words of comfort to offer. I know, so deeply, what it is to lose beloved companions and my heart aches for you and Cath. Be well.
Thank you for your kind words, Christine, on this little poem and on our loss of Kaia.
Very nice, Tovar.
‘When you imagine the place
before you see it…’
I know that feeling. What prompted it in your poem?
Thanks, Paul.
That line, and the poem as a whole, were prompted by an experience here in Vermont, during muzzleloader season a few weeks ago.