Scoby Pond, Francestown, New Hampshire
Cool night air brushes summer-warmed lake,
creates grey-blue morning fog
ghosting over the water.
Fishermen troll along the shore,
hoping to catch the big one
before it plunges to dark safety
when ice forms above, and turtles
bury themselves in mud.
My neighbor is splitting
wood, stacking it against the cold.
On an afternoon walk down our gravel lane,
my shoes scuff through mounds of dry leaves,
whose sweet scent mingles with smoky
memories of last night’s campfire.
Overhead, like licking flames,
maple trees’ last red-orange leaves, backlit
by sunlight bouncing off the lake,
flicker and blaze in the brisk autumn breeze.
Sheryl Guterl claims these titles: mother, grandmother, former English teacher, former elementary school counselor, Albuquerque Museum Docent, alto, bookworm. In the summer, she writes poetry from a New Hampshire cabin, surrounded by water, birds, tall pines, and campfire smoke. In the winter months, in New Mexico, lizards, sandhill cranes, and a rich cultural landscape inspire her. Sheryl’s recent poems are in Capsule Stories, The Bluebird Word, Clerestory, SLAB, Zephyr Review, and several local anthologies.
Banner image courtesy Derek Wright.
