Poem

Someone reminded me today that for people living outside the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont, my poems aren't easy to find. Sorry! Here's one to celebrate the season. It's more or less the same time of year that I'm working on for "The Golden Chain," too.

Skunk Fever
(revised from Mud Season at the Castle)

Sun heats the tree trunks, and the dry scent
of their hot bark blesses the air.
The deer come down,
thin and rough-coated,
for the swelling buds along the treeline.
I rarely see them, but
their tracks are always just before me
or just after.
Boots slipping on wet browns and grays
I reach the stream, where green shoots
rise like fever.
I never knew how starved I was
till I plucked a leaf, just to savor
the eager green of
skunk cabbage.