fall day at the Woods

smalll bony legs crook’d
over a driveway of shale
“here’s one!!!”
to a fossil, and our cousins

“let’s go!!”
tossed aside, then
scampering off to that place
where rotting wood is our
breakfast – in our fort,
a few saplings
leaned to a trunk, first creep inside
racing fast to the river,
there a high crossing keeps
out intruders and
we eat pockets of winesap
apples, ruddy green
like that one pesky leaf
floating downstream
throw a rock, watch it sink….

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