I am walking in the deep woods.
Centuries of old growth left over
From another time edited by stillness.
I came here again after a rain, stirring
A few leaves, looking for their abodes,
Mostly settling for the peace and quiet.
I am thinking of a friend I’d once ask,
What about this one, or this, and
Waited for the answer. Back then
It was our turn to cook for the other artists,
You knew how to find the real delicacies,
And we wanted to prepare something special
For Edward Albee.
You said your mother taught you as
A little girl growing up in the Black Forest.
The sun mints gold coins up in the canopies,
dropping them among the shadows.
The breath of a warbler stirs the light
in the distance.
And a red fox beyond reproach
is watching me, taking detailed notes
behind a tree.
But the best ones slipped through my hands
Like water flowing in a stream.
I would love to come back here another time,
The way you once showed me.
Garden City Park