my world is hushed at this hour of daybreak autumn torches-- yellow, orange, crimson guide the path through white-trunked birches my feet squish prints in soggy brown grasses slide on moss covered stones water hesitates by a beaver dam with percussioned abandon hurls itself over rocks into spray curls beaver guerillas glide through green-black waters, push poplar boughs with paws, at slap of tail disappear to camouflage themselves my thoughts are pulsating black butterflies I wish my troubles could disappear like wood chips in the rapids Copyright ©2001 Glenda Walker-Hobbs
This poem originally appeared in Collective Consciousness, November-December, 2001. It also appears in City on the Rocks, Lighthouse Publishers(2002)