Thirty-five Minutes of Bushwhacking

A hillside over-looking a stream and marsh
Spring’s damp chill
A thermos filled with tea

I sit with my breath and my tea
Hear the sounds of the world

Yellow bellied sap sucker
Flock of turkeys
Rustling reeds
All manner of human transportation

Squash the first two ticks of the year
Watch the flock
The tom standing guard
Chest puffed out

I brought the boys here
When they very young and would ramble with me

The memory fills me with joy
Not a longing for something past

I continue on