a poem in my pocket

Every fall, our family visits Oak Grove, a nearby park on the Sioux River. It covers five hundred plus acres of combined state and county conservation land with hiking trails, picnic areas, cabins and campsites. We park on top of the ridge and find a trail through the scrub oak trees to slowly make our way down to the river bottom.

The river flooded this past summer, changing the landscape. Sand and debris washed into the woodland, excavator tracks show where dirt has been redistributed and re-leveled. Ancient outcroppings of rose-tinted Sioux quartzite remain solidly undisturbed along the upper trail.

Reaching up, young cottonwoods glow golden in late afternoon. Scarlet sumac stunningly line the prairie grassland. The predominant oaks simply turn brown and drop large lobed leaves on the trail below their gnarly trunks. A few spruce and juniper stand green and ever verdant.

leaves blanket steep trail
hiker’s step crunches, slides on
dry patterns fallen