Mud Pond

young trees, branches bare & budded

(precociously primped for spring) lash

my face bushwhacking along sans

trail, I’m searching for mud pond

I straddle fallen trees, stumble out

& down to patches of snow & ice

deer spoor, reeds treading in slush

must scout for higher drier ground

ahead a pale gleam, the promised pond

I climb a ledge to a logger’s road

of course, why else the young

woods, mossy stumps, I stroll home

so easy, no lashings, no swamp

next time I’ll hike the road down

ready to brave mud pond’s surround