Friday, August 3, 2012



This morning’s task: to identify the trees
in the neighborhood.  Plucking a leaf
or picking up one off the ground I
observe closely its shape
  ovate or oblong
       its margins
  toothed or smooth
two or three lobed.  I gaze at the leaf and
skim the guide to find its match – back and
forth, back and forth:
is it a red mulberry or an American sycamore,
        a northern red oak or an American elm?  
Wandering the dirt paths in search
of natural knowledge can be a solitary
enterprise, unless you count the squirrels
and crows, the occasional possum, all
the birds.  I find this solitude addictive,
dangerously appealing, tempting me
to avoid human contact.  I force myself
to fight the seducer and find my way
to the intersection of Townline Road
and Red Arrow Highway, the only corner
in town that bristles with action:
the Country Kitchen, the Pumpernickel
Inn, LaDuke’s Ice Cream and Confections,
the grocery store, the bakery, the auto
repair shop.   The sun shines
hot and bright this morning.  It’s gonna
be a scorcher, the round lady in
the coffee-shop exclaims as I walk
in.  And I am grateful for her words.


  1. I really, really like this. The last sentence says it all. mk

    1. Solitude is sometimes addictive for me and I become antisocial, need to get out of the house and see people. Thanks Myra.