wander to become familiar with inhabitants of the scrubby pond
notice the persevering personality of shelf fungus
climbing the still-standing snag of used-to-be tree
circle the nest of thicket and bramble
pause at the slightly shifted pitter patter of yellows and browns
a season’s leavings
the way a path becomes is through the trodding
something, no, someone, some body passes this way regularly
unseen but leaving trace
a bend of branch, a discernible disruption in layers of decay
like ghosts traveling our synapses
circling, circling, to find their way out of the labyrinths of our minds

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