Forest entrance is beat up, is wrecked.
Run down from too much hurried traffic:
broken bicycles smashed, cars – people.
Lots of people make their start here though.
They go in and I’m going in too.
Next to a brown steel gate that is locked
a worn path guides me from all the noise
into the quiet, very quiet
world of Lowell/Dracut State Forest.
Autumn arrived this morning, dawn
shows ferns and foliage turned yellow.
Honking Canadian Geese are near,
flying to their warmer winter home.
First sunlight bounces off young scrub pine.
White Oak, moss covered, now shows as well.
The shallow marsh, a community.
Wonderful colorful life grows old,
turns to pass by.
An egg shape boulder is the town line,
telling me I have crossed over now.
Never once having been on this spot
it comes to me why they must call it
Both the Lowell/Dracut State Forest.
In the distance a dog is barking.
Homes are quiet in rising thinned steam.
A sign reads:
This path does not take me far enough.