October 2024
On the cat marked trail I picture Mel walking ahead, sniffing
The meditation rock, now moss and vine covered
waits for the dry stream’s murmur to return in spring
Fall colors muted and late, flaunt gold in the higher hills;
sustenance for the spirit above chickweed for supper.
A hunters moon rose huge and orange, and the Atlas comet
displayed a brief showing, both for our awe and pleasure.
The forest alive and adjusting to change remains, barring entrance
to the echoes of floods, wars and hate that hover at its edges.
Carol Toba