Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Summer on Scudder


Today, as I walk past the pond, bottom
mud and wasted vegetation stagnates
and farther out, a shallow pool simmers.
I imagine raccoons drinking the oily
water after dark. Or a neighborhood cat,  
perhaps mine. But what of the beavers? 
In the winter, when reeds cave beneath  
the weight of heavy snow, a view of logs 
and sticks piled high becomes visible:
the beaver den. I worried then, too. How
will the beavers surface through a glaze
of ice three inches thick? While skating
last winter,  I grew curious: could the
beavers hear my blades skimming over
the surface? But now, the pond offers only 
sticky smells and damselflies. the beavers 
have moved on. Aoccasional cricket 
hops off a morning glory flower, ready
to join the frog chorus when stars brighten
the night skyThough there’s little other
wildlife this blistering day, at dusk when
I walk again, I know I’ll hear the bullfrog's 
deep jug-a-rum, and if lucky, will duck 
when feeding bats swoop the path. 





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