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No road to solitude,
just a narrow path and a ducking under
in an envelope of silence and mist
as the ground cools, more sky in the crowns
each day now, a delicate lace overhead.
You left your phone in the kitchen
and carry a book for the cabin porch,
but you don't open it, another leaf
about to release, another barrell-rolling cherry,
another spiraling maple, another tumbling birch.
You hear them tap the earth
when you hold your breath, it can be that quiet
at home in these Pennsylvania woods,
alone with your instincts and thoughts,
if you dare.
