An old, abandoned house reclines

against the green and mossy pines

I do not know who settled here

or the years in which they lived.

I walk across the wooded weir

with chilly nose and reddened ear

to see the golden larch’s boughs

o’er where the river once had flowed.

The subtle sound of squirrels nearby

with quaking aspen in reply

to constant static of the rain

And echoing of my goodbye.

The forest calls me deeper yet

And, thinking twice, I could regret

the placid scenes I might have met,

but not today, the sun has set.

Anthony Miller

Software engineer