My hike begins along that blacktop trail
by the reservoir,
where throngs of noisy geese chatter
like guests at a cocktail party.

Hiding in the rushes near the grand opening
at the meadow’s edge
allows a spectacular view
of two star bucks rutting for a doe.

A little further on I observe a woodpecker
as it jackhammers above me,
preparing to hide an acorn,
berry or insect.

Picking up a perfect acorn,
I pause to observe a caterpillar spin its cocoon,
thinking of that day, I too will fly away.

The crumbling façade of a log in decay
reminds me that my clay shell is also temporary.

Forest rangers are tagging
trees,
some for demolition, some for preservation.

As my journey intersects
with my original path,
I note in the clearing near the car park
a group of girl scouts are planting seedlings
for renewal.

Satisfied,

ready to head
for the high rise
I call home,
I leave the glade
to take my place
in the parade
of autos going down
the hill like an army
of busy ants,
purposefully toting my load
of treasures
back to the nest.

It’s time to rest.