The Pond Trail

Along the path, the dog stops to smell oat grass,

rose bushes, and the trail crossing from pond to lake.

Ducks cross the path after dark, or early in the morning.

Daily, I follow this same trail past the lilies, past the cattails,

past the open water where the Virginia Rail has been

spotted by birdwatchers with long-lensed cameras. Often,

I hear its chattering call and have seen it pop out of the reeds

for a quick viewing more than once. Life birds, some people

call our winged friends they’ve been hunting for a long time.

Finally a spotting…or not. There are other perks on the path:

eating a pink rose petal, a Indian plum, or a Salmonberry. Soon

the thimbleberries will be ripe. This year I may try making jam

from them…like my grandmother once did.

3 thoughts on “The Pond Trail

  1. I love how this poem takes us on a journey of memories — from daily walks in the present to the speaker’s grandmother and her clearly cherished thimbleberry jam.

    So many great details. I especially loved the “chattering call” of the Virginia Rails that “pop” up.

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