Gods of the Woods


How many ears perk with the passing of clumsy feet,
gone to ground, hiding from the crash and crunch
of passersby?

A creature of asphalt and noise makes his way
along a well marked trail,
unaware of fidgety robins and rabbits
the giddy trembling with a certain escape.

Whiskers bristle and eyes stare in question.
Curious the chemical airs the human wears.
Any benefit from man or his trash comes at a cost
often a price too high to consider. . . .

The untamable slink along padded foot,
too aware of the crunch of man’s traipsing
to be caught off guard.
Man will retreat to his strange dwellings of curious material
and voluptuous design
to fuss with his tools and toys. Insisting on his
own world.

The woods once more are for those that belong,
not surviving, but thriving,
strong and discerning; the masters of wind, water and wild.

Do the animals find man’s insistence on roads and paths contradictory?
How could such a strong and capable race not know
that trails are made for game?