To emerge into the clearing
Of an abandoned orchard
Of neglected apple trees.
They gather to enjoy the apples
No longer collected by people.
Perhaps also the clearing
Is a holiday of vision where
They can clearly see what they hear
And not fear
Our intrusion from the forest.
Instead, they watch us in the distance,
And we stop and watch them in the distance
Across the clearing.
Eventually they tire of keeping an eye
On us and dance,
White tails flashing
Into the green gloom of the forest.
poem by barranca