mid-summer in the Smokies
my year is circumscribed
by the days I commit to being a teacher,
that schedule remembers the demands of the farm,
the need to beat back the competition
for the use of the land with hoe and sweat,
so I vacate when it's the hottest,
the forest here i the Smokies is still, expectant,
dimly remembering the hope of the spring,
the passion of the storm,
dimly anticipating diminution
when the green will flee the leaves
and color will suffuse the view,
when bears will harvest the acorns,
gorge upon this year so that they a make it to the next,
my ticket currently allows me to be, to notice, to appreciate,
the creek flows, and rearranges its bed
with enthusiasm, with aplomb,
when it roars high, as it did last week,
how much should I keep doing?
how fully can I be?
though my ticket works for now,
I do not know how long it is good for.
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