Around the island once was a bridle path
a mile lined on both sides by sugar maples
picture omega sliced across in thirds
and you have the greytone picture
now animate that by moving pixels
see gentle grooms walking horses
as wooden steamboats chug by
gleaming yachts stop in for dinner
see lavender ladies on side saddle
gents in breeches canter around waving
at white clad badminton or tennis players
desultory strollers on the path boy with a hoop
a herd of lazy sheep munch grass
tended easily by a lone sheepdog
and the tall maples shimmer gently
green and fresh cooling sheltering
the Depression sandwiched between wars
has left the island weedy abandoned until
venturesome cottagers gradually reclaim the space
its ancient path still lined by thickened maples
the trees are old now ravaged by winds
weighty ice storms disease carpenter ants
leaving only occasional graceful giants still in
a sort of vague outline of an esoteric purpose
they still shed blossoms and keys that flutter down
like little gyros that can land germinate take root
and some indeed do sprout up and in a decade or two
start reaching skyward for a history of their own.
