up the dipping road
mountain arm is bear’s shoulder
my home lies below
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Multiple joys of September, cloud fingers dip into mountain creases, swamp maples step forward, my pine flags flying, one more trip around the sun complete
down in our back woods
I found the bear’s prize seed bin
empty but with scoop
we think she ambled up our hill
and grabbed the seed bin
left outside our door
then took her prize down to
the stream-cut woods
behind the house, to feast.
our feeders are aswarm again,
the returning snowbirds and
winter stalwarts busy feeding,
none of whom would care she came
unless denied their food, but
the squirrels and I are glad
that she was choosy in her way.
so, do you think if I asked nicely,
she would return my scoop?
Life With Horace 