By the pony stable
before the woods,
she paused,
the long vermillion gash
along her cheek.

The wound dried
days ago, I’m sure,
but she still walked
gingerly, though feeling
more alive than ever.

She remembered
when she misjudged
the fateful leap
over the neighbor’s
reinforced wire fence
to forage and root
for fall’s leavings.

Green leaves
and berries
are scarce now,
you don’t need to remind her,
and even the wind cuts you,
chills your mortal bones.