OLD MAN ON THE MOUNTAIN

The road's gravel groans a bit
as I park on its wide shoulder
then I sneeze and cough and finally spit
on a granite roadside boulder.

Here on Parsons' Mountain side
I look around at the steep hills
where huge hardwood trees abide
whose shadows lend to autumn's chills.

All the leaves are painted now
and scattered cherry trees are bare
on these slopes that never felt a plow
which around here is pretty rare.

These deep woods look about the same
as they did four long decades ago
and they still hold deer and other game.
I scan hollows where I now can't go.

For I'm no longer what I was:
strong of leg and deep of breath,
time being the main blame and cause.
An old man being stalked by death.

Overhead a flock of wild geese fly
newcomers unlike all the deer.
I watch them disappear and sigh.
Like them I'll one day leave from here.