I left the house a bit ago
and now am near my destination
So I begin to drive slow
then stop with little hesitation
here where mixed woods soar and grow.

Stiffly I exit from my truck
inhaling all the scents of fall
With a little bit of luck
in coming hike I will not fall
or wander into a swamp's muck.

Autumn blossoms color roadsides gold
with golden rod and ragweed flowers
and a few frost flowers blue and bold
open from the last night's showers
whose watering will soon turn old.

A logging road twists through these trees
but today I'll go where no roads wind
and enjoy the worm sun's merest tease
leaving frets and worries behind
setting a course for where I please.

A few yard from the roadside ditch
I see mushrooms poking out
And if not careful I'll soon itch
from poison ivy all about.
I'm wary to avoid that glitch.

I note sassafras's is turning now
Signaling a coming frost.
Soon the sun flowers will bow
as cool winds leave the tree tops tossed.
The same breezes cool my wrinkled brow

I slowly shuffle through the duff
in near silence for its damp.
For an old guy this stroll is tough
But I still go on with this tramp
(time to rest comes soon enough)

A squirrel barks, I stop and look,
then spot him high up in a tree
on a bluff beside a middling brook.
I note he's not looking at me
rather, below the path I took.

Still as a statue (One which sways)
my gaze takes in all around
then among the browns and grays
a red fox checks his hunting ground
the barking squirrel the only sound.

Just as he leaves a flock of crows
pass and alight in a near field
around which an old fence row grows.
The field has given up its yield
stubble is all that it now grows.

Their lookout perches up a tree
and lets loose when I resume my quest.
I should have brought my staff with me.
Hindsight is every time the best
I learn from my aching knee.

And there ahead I spy a shed,
an antler from a last year buck.
I am likely near is bed
A quarter mile from my red truck.
I pick it up and thank my luck.

I walk on to a little glade,
sit on a log to take a rest
soaking up all nature made.
To walk no farther would be best.

Sun tells me its mid after noon.
Geese tell me that they're southward bound.
I know that I will leave here soon.
Far off I hear a running hound
baying out in his base tune.

He runs until he's out of range.
I rise and decide its time to leave.
Wondering why the day seems strange.
It's almost like I should grieve.
Perhaps I am near My own range.