1. (Pisgah Marsh)
‘Til the water dries up or it starts to rise,
It exists with the land in a compromise.
Shallow and murky and teeming with creatures,
Smells like life and death, sounds like spring peepers.
Only a deer path a few years back.
Overnight, a boardwalk appeared intact,
Complete with handrails, educational plaques
Relaying plant, insect, and waterfowl facts.
The dirt road ends where the marsh consumes it.
Cat- tails, dead trees, swirling, rippling, moonlit.
Car parked in the weeds, it’s getting kind of late,
And the lot’s closed off, so we climb the gate.
The night-time marsh denizens in full voice:
From their burrows, from their nests, from their holes, they rejoice.
Strange birds call out and the bullfrogs croak.
And a pale mist hangs on the water like a cloak.
Fireflies so thick if they all blinked as one,
You might for a second almost think it’s the sun.
We can walk to the pond where the Saint and I saw
An otter gutting fish on the ice with his paws.
I talk in hushed tones, clamming up abruptly
When a noise that I can’t identify interrupts me.
Spooky and soothing, elegant decay.
I’m in Pisgah Marsh with goose flesh in a good way.

2. (Game Preserve)
If you climb this hill and stand on this ridge,
You’ll see the path down to the first land-bridge.
Small lakes on either side, cross between.
Most of the real action occurs off-screen.
And the trails are unmaintained and unclear.
They wind here and there, fade to nothing, reappear.
We get so engrossed in following the scenery,
We tramp off-track, getting swallowed by the greenery.
Crossing muddy trickles on logs slick with moss.
Wet from the knees down, burs stick to my socks.
Climb a tall, thin tree and lean to one side,
Bend the trunk to the forest floor for a fun ride.
I throw a rock near a swimming beaver, it gets nervous.
It slaps its tail and vanishes beneath the surface.
And I can’t begrudge the mosquitoes their taste,
When we are the invaders meddling in their space.
And we come around for a wander so often,
You’d think getting lost wouldn’t be so common.
In terms of wrong turns, we made at least one.
Not bad navigation, it’s more like none.
Daylight fades and the greens get deeper.
The forest starts losing distinguishing features.
We choose a direction, walk in a straight line.
Game preserve, hours lost, making great time.