Shenandoah Valley

The trees of this place cannot be explained
and the earth is so covered with them,
that not even the deer know them completely.
In places I cannot see the sky from below this
Elm, Oak, Maple and Walnut.

My sister hunts me and I crawl
under a trunk lying motionless on its side.
The rough bark peels to form a heart
and I find a stick to carve my name.
Dried leaves rustle and I spring from my place -
my sister shrieks and falls over.

Panting, we run -
following a serpentine river; mossy stones
and spreading ferns weave throughout the water.
Listen, and hear the droplets of a stream,
the far away power of a waterfall; but closer,
the metallic whine of cicadas discover the
brooding silence.

Smooth rocks become cannonballs as we
gather our ammo and aim for water bugs.
Our father is waste deep and he lifts a catfish
from the rope on his belt and calls to us.
I applaud the catch as my sister cries
for the dying fish.