I hear hikers crunching down the trail
of oak and maple leaves
from this and many past Octobers,
a passageway for the only creature
on God’s earth that needs one.
the sound heavy but the feelings light,
an exuberance to their passing.
The footsteps are a reassurance
to a man at an open window,
who fears for the tree, the hilltop, the stream,
should they ever go unloved.
Much good lies within earshot.
I take its nearness seriously.
