The creek lies deep in its bed
casting points of light skyward.
Motionless, the coyote
watches my slow advance, then turns
and drifts away, blending
I follow, walking past
an ancient hickory, its trunk hollowed.
I wonder at its strength to remain
standing, bark thick and ridged.
My time in this place is
just beginning. Tendrils of hope
rise to wisps of clouds.