Rock Piles By Ed Ahern

When I used to hunt for deer

I’d park on a gravel road

and hike in a half mile

on a rusty railroad track.

At a leaning swamp oak

I’d veer into the woods and

brush burrow over a ridge,

to where two deer trails

meandered across each other.

 

 

I’d set my folding stool

between two large boulders

with a tree obscured view

of the intersection

and wait.

The deer paths cut through

a long-abandoned farmstead.

A toppling chimney and stone fences

were all that remained.

Most of the stones had

found their way

back to earth

but the pattern abided.

 

 

The deer never came.

I’d spent several evenings

watching the light wane

on a monument

that carried no recollection.

The aching hand work,

gathering and stacking rocks

to clear a spot to plow

was for abandoned purpose.

And I’d been relieved

that my presence was transient

and that when I left

there would be no evidence.

 

Ed resumed writing after forty years in foreign intelligence and international sales. Ed now works on the other side of writing at Bewildering Stories. So far, Ed has had over 200 stories and poems published, as well as three books.



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