Walking The Old Dirt Road Poem by John Myshkoff

Shyly peeking over the east ridge
A hesitant sun tentatively appears.
Clouds have got the upper hand
Although, not for long I think.
A breeze sneaks through rain soaked trees
A doe I recognize licks droplets,
Generously held by sapling leaves,
Her fawn, hidden by a wild berry bush
Carefully reveals itself.
We exchange welcoming glances,
Then go about our business.
Wild turkey made an early crossing
Their tracks, like intaglio
Pattern the roadside clay,
Reaching the underbrush, they disappear
Leaving no sign, no sound
All is quiet as I walk the old dirt road
And the sun reclaims its place in the sky.