The Old Pasture

The old pasture is grown over.
It’s been fifty years now
since you could see the pond
on the other side of that hill.

There are mostly maples, elms, walnuts –
trees that grow quickly and
find this soil friendly.
Will the oaks ever return?

Squirrels and deer live here.
So do a variety of birds and
vampire insects like ticks.

The pasture lives on like a memory
in the thin spaces where
seedlings struggle to gain a foothold
amidst the rocky soil, the vines, and
all the ground vegetation.

This burgeoning forest is small,
surrounded by farms,
suburban homesteaders and
overwhelmed by the busyness
of the industry in nearby cities.

My prayer is this tiny forest,
and the many others like it,
will someday become places of wisdom,
full of ancient timber and diverse species.

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This poem was written on September 26, 2025.