The Plucking Post

The dappled light of the forest
holds many secrets.
Sauntering through the towering spruce,
we search for clues of the wild.
An ancient bear path, a raven’s croak
A humming bird
kisses the Indian paintbrush

A shaft of light,
reveals a plucking post
Feathers of the vanquished
among the lichen and moss

We pause to ponder
this lair of the goshawk
Then it’s our turn
to recede
into the forest’s dappled light