First Moose Sighting, Mac Hill, c. 1978

Skiing with friends one still February afternoon,

upland beechwood slides into tapestry: two sudden,

mythical profiles - soundless, long-legged, mossy gray

on gray, they graze on yellowed leaves - then, gently

as first flakes of snow, shuttle off through the trees

and are gone, back into the weave of winter.

Awakened by Turkeys

(a la Edward Lear)

‘Cross the lawn, clad in sleek brown and black,

Stepping, pecking, this morning they’re back:


Twelve ladies, one gent

In sedate regiment,

Soft remarking “Gob-gobbledy clack.”