alone I walk in the forest deep
no given trek but just one foot
before the other falling
where they may in solitude
solitude yet alive with wind knocking
branches together with the addition
of bird song praising the day and
crunching of twigs beneath my feet
ahead is the dark shape of what was
once a home long ago burned by
tongues of bright yellow orange and
red changing gaily painted walls black
timbers stand and lie haphazardly
there is the remains of a dresser a
metal frame of a bed and there barely
seen now a messy pile of pearls
possibly once an heirloom now
turning green as the moss that has
grown all around changing starkness
and jaggedness to soft smoothness
nature has painted her soft colors of
daisys trillium and Indian paintbrushes
in patches amongst humans remaining
testament of once occupation soon
to become again but forest floor with
maple oak and pine struggling for
a foothold within the dark frame with
breaks in its once fluidity of walls
time continues but erases all but
the deepness of the forest dark
where only the stream babbles and
sings with the birds branches and wind
jsburl, MFA is a hemorrhagic stroke survivor who lives in Northern NY. She loves her family, the mountains, gardening, crocheting, writing poetry and stories, oil painting, dragons, and animals large and small. She lives with her dog Tippy, and has just finished her master’s degree in Creative Writing. She was inducted into Sigma Tau Delta International English Society, and The National Society of Leadership and Success. She has been a journalist and won state and US competitions, and has a children’s book slated for release in May/June of 2023. The stroke took her mobility, but not her creativity. Her favorite thing to tell people is “Make every day an extraordinary day.”