Bob Gossom

CULVERT AND COPSE

 

I walk a serpentine path

through the culvert

The concrete planking extends

first from one side, then the other

to slow rushing water

It’s dry and dark now

as I wind my way through

 

I come out into a wide expanse 

of close-cut grass

Hundreds of yards to either side

are newish houses

their trees still small, but growing

 

Every hundred yards or so

there is a small wild copse

of mature trees, eroded banks

deadfall and quiet where

you can sit and imagine 

the forest that used to live here

 

This area was set aside for flood control

it rains a lot here in Pennsylvania

But this expanse goes on

for a mile or more

Much wider and more wild

than seems needed.

Shrink it a bit on both sides

add another feeder road 

and it would fit

Thirty or forty more houses

 

I think of a young renegade designer

sneaking in the extra space needed to 

keep these small wild areas

But on contemplation

it’s more likely 

an exquisite older balance

between what is required

and what is allowed

 

Leaving a copse

I push my way through

the head high bushes

following a sort of path

I wonder what this small

soft foliage is called

I don’t know its name

but I feel like more than 

an acquaintance with it’s 

yellow pollen covering my shirt

 

The green space dead ends under a freeway

Birds nest there and startle

when I approach

I don’t know the bird’s names either

but their chirps and calls

bring old memories with them

 

My granddaughters live 

in this development

a mile away

They didn’t know about 

this wild area

so close to their home

I bring them the next day

but the birds are quiet

the sun too intense

their development life 

too beckoning

So the next time

I come alone, again

I eat an apple in

the quiet and the shade

and bury the core