Perched like an eagle’s aerie above a stone cliff,
the hut sits on a scaffold of timbers.
Steep steps serpentine skyward.
The fire spotter waves me up,
says he’s a college student from Connecticut—
hasn’t talked to anyone for a week.
Below our feet, stretching in every direction,
millions of firs, a green carpet scattered with lakes,
Slicing the watermelon, I packed in my knapsack,
we stand at the railing, while chipmunks scavenge
a sudden rain of seeds.