I hear honks today
not from urban traffic though
but migrating geese

The misty rain beads on my sleeve
on my walk through cool damp trees
in the quiet twilight of this eve
a week or so from first hard freeze.

Trees drip like an autumn shower
every time a slight wind blows
which makes me hunch my neck and cower
then wipe cold water off my nose.

Squirrels scamper through damp duff
then dart up tree when I pass by
then bark at me in a tone that's gruff
beneath a lowering gray sky.

Slowly, slowly I proceed
rifle on shoulder, staff in hand
carried in case I have need
for a third support in this damp land.

Legs tire, I lean against a bole
to rest and let the woods calm down.
A woodpecker peeks out from its hole
here three miles from nearest town.

In the quiet ghosts arrive
of those who left old age to me.
We converse almost as if alive
yet nobody's here with me.

Suddenly a doe appears
magically as is their way
she bites an acorn as she nears.
For venison I guess she'd do.

Then she looks to her back trail
causing me to also look back there
just as a buck walks up young and hale.
My slung rifle remains there.

Freezer is stocked with winter's meat.
The small buck sports his first head gear.
His eyes and the doe's eyes meet
then both of them bound out of there.

At last the light becomes too dim
signaling it's time to go.
I turn and leave like both of them.
this old buck heads home to his doe.

As the years pile up
mercy becomes a virtue
memories accrue