I forget about the half-written story
the hopeful to-do list on my calendar
how long the backyard grass has grown
the unwashed dishes . . .

and follow curiosity down the curve
of a hill, eager to discover what’s around the bend–
the shiver of aspen or thick pine-shade?
I scratch my fingertips on goldenrod lace,

turn to see if the skittering squirrel is red, grey, or black,
ponder the marsh, the still stench of purification,
listen to crows call each other home,
wait for the swallowtail to pause his thirst for nectar.

I look for the spaces of overlap–
where water meets land,
when hills stretch out to plain,
how sunshine turns to shade

and see my thoughts change
with the terrain, as I scribble
in my notebook to catch
the poem of my walk, to reflect
back on another day.

Katrina Serwe, BS, MS, PhD… it took her three degrees to figure out she's really a poet. Now she's on the Ice Age Trail writing poems and sharing hiking haiku on Instagram. Her poems have been published in Moss Piglet, The Little Book Project, the Muse 5, ArtAsPoetryAsArt, and Portage Magazine.