Her Story

You stop briefly to watch as several
goldfinches loop through the air into the
forest beyond the trail, then forge on, a
beautiful cool and breezy day, shafts of
sunlight penetrating the forest canopy to
throw bright warmth on the forest floor
picking out the presence of bright orange
fungi here and there among the shrinking
green vegetation on this late summer day.
It's a serene landscape, only the sweet
twittering of the birds and they're soon
gone. Then a sound difficult to decipher
but it could be a pileated woodpecker in
the distance, its manic cry distinguished
though it sounds harshly staccato and
electrified and on comes a rotund woman
hat perched over straggly grey hair her
broad face split in a wide smile, the
radio strapped on her waistbelt the
source of the crackling. She stops. You
stop. Yes, it's a wonderful day, aren't we
fortunate to have this green landscape to
ourselves, so peaceful and eye-appealing.
Her deeply creased face turns serious as
her voice takes on the self-assurance of
those deeply committed to themselves
imparting to a stranger the story of her
life, that she has always been taken for
someone much younger than her age
while her younger sister looks older than
her age and you step back just as you're
taken aback, wordless, politely lending
your ears to someone who appears to need
ears attuned appreciatively to her story.