I like to sit alone in the woods
And contemplate the universe
Thinking about how fast time goes by
And write poems in my head that I’ll never remember
When you sit quietly, you hear things you never knew made noise
A mouse scurrying underneath a log
Leaves flitting in the wind
The flapping of woodpecker wings as one makes his way from tree to tree
Time gets away from you when you perch quietly on a downed tree
Waiting for your prey to come along
Facing north the sun is behind you
And the passage of time is marked by the shadows the trees cast before you
As evening approaches the woods are filled with the sounds of the sandhill crane
You feel the whoosh of the downward stroke of their wings as they fly overhead
Just above the treetops
They, unaware of your presence below
Singing their ancient call as they fly past
Returning to their nighttime roost
Full of corn and ready for sleep
The sun sets and the woods turn still
You silently leave your post and return down the trail
A good day of hunting doesn’t always end with a kill
Sometimes the best part is the time spent alone with your thoughts
The Wildwood Glen 