Well travelled
roads or
less travelled
it’s the inside
once hidden
that’s revealed
fragile camouflage
the ragged leaves
on branches
no longer fluttering
laid bare
along its arms



While out for a walk today I came across my own version of Frost’s “two roads diverg[ing] in a yellow wood.”

Warm yellow leaves carpet a trail that splits in two directions like a "Y." Bare branched trees surround the trail.

While both of these roads eventually circle around to meet the other, it’s true that the view would differ significantly depending on which I took: one bordering the river and the other wandering along the foot of a scruffy bluff. The constant with both at this time of year is the way fall has stripped the leaves and left bare an accumulation of things usually hidden, like this bird’s nest.

The thin bare branches of a tree cup a bird's nest

Along the way I also encountered a copse of trees with strips of peeled birch bark draped over branches well above my reach.

A large strip of birch bark draped over the bare branch of a nearby tree - one of several such strips

I’ve been reflecting lately on how the vagaries of life often do a similar job of stripping us of our emotional camouflage and revealing things we may not want to look at ourselves, let alone reveal to others. This poem is an effort to encapsulate some of that

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