Having stumbled upon the path, by then long lost, The elderly couple had half expected It would lead them back into town. “Maybe to the lot where we parked,” she joked.
Who would have thought the path would end so sharply While still deep in the woods! And why end at a stream so wide As if the forest had drawn some line?
Two hours of wandering, Hunger and thirst rising, These woods no longer looked kind. And above them the sun threatened To set not so long from now.
Hope draining, they stand before the stream, Staring in silence but still holding hands. “Maybe the path continues on the other side,” The husband murmurs, half to himself. “Or maybe it’s deeper than it looks.”
Turning from the stream, She pulls on his arm to bring him lower. She smiles as he faces her Looking directly into her eyes. She speaks softly to her man, “Give me your best kiss, my love, Then hold my hand, tightly please, As we step into the water lightly.”
In the woods at the back of the house, The young girls stand amidst the oaks, Their eyes raised to the leafy canopy above them. They do not move, nor do they speak. They hear only the tap, tap, tap sound up and to their left. They search for the drummer’s location. By the door at the back of the house, The grandfather watches the girls in the woods. He hears a woodpecker at work. He does not move, nor does he speak. He chases an ethereal notion That the girls, and the oaks, and the woodpecker are one.
Vilano Images 