I sit outside your shack
reading your almanac.
Did you also sit on this bench,
while putting words to paper?

Or did you write in different places?
Perhaps inside by a fire,
where your solitary mind
could ply quiet thoughts
into textures, colors, and truths?

A stately oak shades this spot.
Could it be a descendent of the oak
the sawyer cut through revealing
rings of Wisconsin history
you so brilliantly conveyed?

A chickadee perches
on the nearby hand pump.
Could it be an ancestor
of the banded chick, that returned
for five consecutive winters?

I’ve journeyed long to your retreat,
to read about January’s thaw,
to see the burr oak,
and to hear the flight-song
of the upland plover
confirming spring’s arrival.

Though you died five years
before my life began,
it is with deepest gratitude
that I read this copy of your book,
now decades old and dog-eared,
at the place where it was born
from blank pages and ink.

Peter Donndelinger is a retired chemistry teacher who writes daily. His first collection of poems, I Know a Place, published by TheShyWriter, debuted in August of 2021. When not writing, Peter can be found riding his bicycle, gardening, or walking Elie, his golden retriever. He resides in Southwest Wisconsin.