In the deepest wood
In the steepest ravine
The creek banks were red mud walls
The stream was rocky here
And he stepped from stone to stone
Some solid, others rocking with his weight.
.
He was dressed for the cold and for the rain
His boots higher than the creek was deep
He rested the twenty-two over his left forearm
The butt of it under his arm
And waded from hole to hole
Clearing each trap and re-baiting
A slice of apple on a stick
He dunked it and shook it under the cold water
To erase any trace of human scent
And stuck the twig in the shallow
One step before the sunken trap.
Over the far ridge he saw the columns of woodsmoke
Rising from the chimneys of the town
And he walked on
Wishing the creek would never end
Wishing the morning would never end
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