Crossing Worthily

A Hometown Poem

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Frost glistens on frozen grass,
a chilly shine on the horizon. 
We stop at the corner, looking left 
and right, pondering our morning path. 
My dog catches a scent, lifts 
his quivering nose eastward, so we veer 
to the left. It’s the smallest decision, 
stepping off the curb and turning 
into the sunrise, over the threshold
into the promise of day, suddenly awash 
in a streak of coral and brilliant yellow. 

We walk with intention 
to the edge of town and pause. 
There it is, the sun, lifting upward, 
balanced like a ball of fire 
over barren cornfields, spotlighting the stubble 
and soil now hardening into winter. 
But there, over there, to the northeast, 
is movement, and we watch the deer leap 
and bound in the distance, white tails 
bobbing like markers in a dark sea. 

One, two, three, four… I count five 
flying across the frosty earth,
crossing the far field that leads 
into the timber east of town. I wonder 
if they are running to a place of shelter 
or running from something, from cars 
and noise and hunters in camo and orange, 
or if they are on the move because that is what 
they are compelled to do in November. 

My dog watches intently, tense on his leash,
but the deer are too far away to chase, 
and now they are gone, so he relaxes,
looks up, tests the air, and pulls slightly 
to the right. We turn once more, crossing 
the sidewalk again, circle around the block,
and head home, sun at our backs, 
frost melted into morning dew.

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