When dusk hands off its day to night and light begins
to yellow, a certain calm descends upon the fields and forest.
A river fog cast its misty net upon the forest edge.

This is the time to think not of “the dying of the light”
but of the coming next day, of “darkness thinking the light.”
Here is a forest whose scents of evergreens, hickory

and oak mingle with the odors of earth, the aromas
from an underground network, the complex connections
of the wood wide web.

Who would have thought of all that happens below ground.
Who would have thought a forest like a village where trees
speak to one another and to other creatures, where nothing dead ends

but continues on in a maze of links and continuing pathways.
So much of what is seen is due to what is unseen.