SILENCE ATTAINED

The forest drips this early morning
as I drift through without a sound.
No noise to give out any warning
while I observe the wildlife all around.

Ground fog fills the lower places.
It hovers like a wispy shroud.
Like me it drifts leaving no traces.
With daylight all the birds turn loud.

I stop beside a hickory
old legs giving me no pain.
Bad knees are but a memory.
Woods slowly dry from last night's rain.

No rustled leaves, no snap of twig
and now I spy an antlered deer
feeding on a dogwood sprig.
He acts as though I am not here.

So I approach him from down wind,
slowly, slowly, silently.
No hint of presence do I send.
The big buck does not even see me.

A few more steps I'm by his side.
His head rises to look around
to every place a man might hide
within his immediate home ground.

Then he turns back to his feeding
just as I spot another man
by looks he's from last century's breeding
with homespun clothes and farmer's tan.

I see his eyes are turned elsewhere.
I follow his gaze to a Cherokee
with wooden bow and long black hair.
This Indian is staring at me.

At last the events now make sense.
All three of us are sylvan ghosts.
Here where men are few and woods are dense
I've become a member of their hosts....