I sit quietly on a tree stump,
still as a windless night,
and as aware as the
wild things that stare
with their night vision.
I feel their questions
travel my skin in their inhales
as they assess whether
I am friend or foe.
In the November chill
alone attempts to threaten
with shadows snapping twigs
on the path behind me.
But I am not afraid because
the moon comes closer
to the pines above me
to reveal a doe trusts
I’m not her enemy.
Susie Clevenger 2025
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