The trail ascends from the beach
into the forest as a carpet of cones,
thimble-size hemlock and thumb-size spruce.
Above the hush of my footfalls,
a breeze sighs in the tree tops.
I come to a man-made bridge
of squared lumber, two-byes and four-byes,
all parallel and perpendicular.
The copper-arsenic green of the lumber
blinks like neon against the muted browns
of winter and the deep green of mosses.
I am reminded that I’m just passing through.
— Richard Stokes
• The Capital City Weekly, which runs in the Juneau Empire’s Thursday editions, accepts submissions of poetry, fiction and nonfiction for Writers’ Weir. To submit a piece for consideration, email us at email@example.com.