going back

these woods, full of rain.
your shoes
smacking against the paved
walk until it turns to
gravel. the woods of no
change, over thirty years
you've come this way
to witness
the sway of birds rising
against the sky, scurrying
from branch to
brush. the pond at the end
black and shallow,
unmoving. the beaten path
is silent.
the cold, the holiday
has saved it just for you.
knowing you'd be back.