When I used to hunt for deer
I’d park on a gravel road
and hike in a half mile
on a rusty railroad track.
At a leaning swamp oak
I’d veer into the woods and
brush burrow over a ridge,
to where two deer trails
meandered across each other.
I’d set my folding stool
between two large boulders
with a tree obscured view
of the intersection
and wait.
The deer paths cut through
a long-abandoned farmstead.
A toppling chimney and stone fences
were all that remained.
Most of the stones had
found their way
back to earth
but the pattern abided.
The deer never came.
I’d spent several evenings
watching the light wane
on a monument
that carried no recollection.
The aching hand work,
gathering and stacking rocks
to clear a spot to plow
was for abandoned purpose.
And I’d been relieved
that my presence was transient
and that when I left
there would be no evidence.
Ed resumed writing after forty years in foreign intelligence and international sales. Ed now works on the other side of writing at Bewildering Stories. So far, Ed has had over 200 stories and poems published, as well as three books.