On Saturday morning I jumped out of bed,
put on my husky Toughskins, tube socks,
a Flyers ski cap and a red plaid flannel shirt.
I laced up my boondockers and headed off
to the woods of my youth in South Jersey.
I heard men laughing, the chainsaws buzzing,
logs clunking into the bed of an old Ford pickup.
I found my Grandfather with his teacher friends
on the edge of a soy bean field, near the pond
I’d fallen into more than thirty some years ago.
I ran to the forest, stopped to exchange stares
with a whitetail deer, found the brook where
the scared muskrats scurried and an otter swam.
I climbed trees, crossed streams, chucked rocks,
took cover behind maples, charged a hill with sticks,
breathed in cold fresh air and it made me invincible.