New Territory

In this part of the valley,
the winding creek undercuts
hills unnoticed from the mile roads.

Thank the deer for any trails.

Old fences stand,
rusty hindrances to our passage,
the only bridges,
downed logs and thin ice.

As we scout for birds this morning,
the soft earth still smells of autumn
with late-fallen leaves.

My partner spots a coyote,
heading upstream as we work down,
and then another.

They cross the creek
silently over to my side;
without a trace, they’re gone.

Calling birds quiet.

A barred owl takes flight.