Having missed the herd every day
thus far, I’m staked out, beer
and camera in hand, ears pricked,
ready for anything. My doors are
open, all creatures welcome,
and that goes double for the red
foxes said to visit the Farm.
In the distance, a woodpecker
taps into waning light. Fall slows
things down, lowers the heart
rate, gets everything ready for the big
slumber. Even Twain may have
found it challenging to write
this time of year in the spot
where his study sat before it
was gifted and moved, because
of vandals, to Elmira College.
It breathes easily, now, by the campus
lake, around which groups of students
slowly make their way toward
classes—their wild lives on hold.
