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Excerpt from a work in progress, by current resident Annie Jacobs: 

Following the front, after

rain and clearing

red efts are slow and still

Jonathan calls in the crows

Now the ground is cold

and open enough that I find

turkey wing feathers, sun-gold

aspen leaves, and scallop fossils

I imagine deer ticks, but

there aren’t any

Just decorated flickers grazing

for the larvae of ants and beetles

Deeply pocked beech trees

The local fair

An afternoon where

a woman plays cello

while a boy paints beside her in the yard

At night I hear a barred owl

These woods of mine are

not so desperate

because I keep returning

When I wonder how my heart

looks, I return