The land dips and rises.
My forty-years husband and I
eye the rocky path.
But woodpeckers, bluebirds
cardinals, sparrows—
and of course the woodland violets,
daisy fleabane, meadow buttercups
and tangled roots
of fallen trees—beckon.
And there, up, beyond the shy crowns
of the trees, infinity—
Deep in the woods, Stephen whistling
and I composing poems in my head,
veer off-trail, explorers
lighting out for the territory.
'