Last Fall

Three wild turkeys strolled
Down the aspen-lined dirt road,
Made eye contact, turned,

And headed up-slope
Instead, through the brush, then down
Around behind me

And back to the road.
They knew how to be wary—
Not enough, of course,

To escape the end,
But enough to extend things
For a few more days.

Close behind them, what I feared
And wanted waited for me.