Walking Sticks
They look like walking sticks!” Ian exclaims.
And I have to agree
As I pause and watch as one
Methodically plods across the sticky wet path
Its prehistoric claws almost mechanical in their
Focused determination to cross.
Once I waited too long to move the garbage can
It was dark and damp, like tonight
When I did
There was one!
Its rubbery form freed from
The weight of weeks of trash.
Tonight, it’s Christmas Day
The trees dripping with rain
The dampness and the dark
Here at Wildcat Canyon envelop
Them in their migration to where?
Is it time for tea?
Or maybe a beer?
The salamanders aren’t saying
I screamed in shock when I moved the trash that night
But this evening I only smile
As I step carefully over one walking stick after another.
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