DRONE

Eyes dazed neck stiff from desk stress
I break away to the pretty beach spot
The way we left it in flowing waters.
A growth of compass daisy takes over
By the folding chairs after the Summer.
A broad sunflower of another variety
With a thick stem moves in as well.
The seeds lay waiting from the Winter flood.
Light sparkles still by the rocky shoals
But the ducks are gone for good.

Up above wild apple I worried about
Shows no more sign of damage and the fruit
Large red and tart tasting for the season
Is falling to seed and food for deer.
Summer grass lays flat like a carpet.
I avoid a growth of brush making a path
Around it going uphill brown and dry.
Maneuvering the slope I smash into an insect hill
In deep cover ruining the side of it
And jump clear of the sand scar out of instinct.

The right-of-way under the wires is littered
With forest debris from the pine cutting.
Pieces crackle and give way underfoot.
I steady myself paying attention to each step.
I find a state marker from the sixties.
They cut out an old road for higher ground
And speeding traffic on a wide highway.
Walking without a plan I find I've reached
The lot line where the logging stopped
And I rest on a bank of disturbed soil.

The understory cut away or crushed
Surviving trees stand out.
Those along the skid trail have their bark rubbed off
By the heavy machines and logs in passage.
Torn pieces hang loose or litter the floor.
The poor ones are white with rust and dead branches.
A few are just dry sticks with nothing at all.
The rest of them benefit from the change and thrive.
A swarm of gnats bother around my head and eyes
And I brush at them without thinking.

A small bumblebee picks his way between the goldenrod
Timeless skill guiding the separate movements
That work the last remaining juice from each floweret
Floating on from one to another till I lose sight of him.
The stalks move slightly in the cool air currents
Rising from the river and some of them the tops
No longer gold are powdery and expectant with seed.
Remembering the sweet flow of Summer like a nectar
I see him once more feeding in the open field below
With the solid house marking the end of it.

Jay 9/21/97