Stealth eludes my old tired legs
as I traipse through last year's leaves
in deepest woods where silence begs
to be maintained on winter eves.
My noisy footfalls spook all here.

Soon aches and age demand a rest
a beech tree appears where I might sit
as the sun begins to journey west
taking the last of midday with it.
I recline where a stream is near.

At first a still deep silence reigns
as winter woodland settles down.
Old joints mumble of their pains
trying their best to make me frown.
Complaints which I choose not to hear.

Then while I sit I close my eyes
and sounds invade my consciousness.
Through the hollow cool wind sighs
then gives my neck a chill caress
beneath a sky cobalt and clear.

A beetle rustles near my boot
dry duff rattling along his way.
I suspect that he's as black as soot
as he beetles his way forth today.
Of me he has no need to fear.

With eyes still closed sounds permeate;
a squirrel barks as it jumps limb to limb
perhaps in search of a new mate
willing to spend some time with him.
Like all, he seeks somebody dear.

Woodpeckers drum on a far ridge,
a deer snorts alarm from dead down wind
and a train whistles from a distant bridge
while an owl hoots from the hollow's end.
From somewhere a low exits a steer.

The stream decides it should join in
and sends tinkles from a half drowned log
while turkeys fuss from far side glen.
Year's last peeper cries out from the bog
where soon frost and skim ice will appear.

These sounds all seduce me into sleep
and I dream of love and warm hearth fire
while snoring on this hillside, steep
likely drawing denizens' sharp ire.
To the forest I must appear queer.

Something startles me awake
though I've no idea the cause
but I rub eyes and give my head a shake
arise, stretch, turn around and pause
before setting sun drives me from here.

Wind sets , the quiet of end of day
sends thoughts of those no longer here,
of past days with them hunting deer,
of the few folk left who I hold dear.
As I leave I wipe a single tear.