thinking of a poet

 

 

in a new england village

an old man wandered

the road towards me

thick crop of frosted hair

 

snowflakes started to fall

 

he shuffled along

looking here

looking there

 

a flight of geese

flew in a perfect V pattern

south

 

he watched them disappear

then walked

towards me slowly

a bit confused

 

hello I said

lovely morning

he looked startled

then greeted me

 

where is a fine man like you

traveling on a snowy day

 

he looked at me quizzically

I am not sure

but I will know

when I get there

 

we stood not saying much

then he said “I have miles

to go before I sleep”

 

I said that sounds familiar

he looked at me smiled and said

yes it should

 

he continued down the road

I quietly followed him

 

in about a mile he slowed

searching for something

 

soon he came to a

small overgrown lane

slowly he turned

disappearing into the

overgrowth

 

following I turned into

the lane

and came upon

an old cemetery

 

the old man had vanished

 

he had found what was beyond

the deep and snowy woods and

the end of the miles

 

now he could sleep

now he could sleep