After presents, after the meal, a walk
in the woods. Four adults and four children,
five to ten, reluctant to leave new toys behind.
Yet sticks and rocks whet imagination;
a stream crossing requires strategy;
spontaneous gamecraft arises outside a screen.
Young cousins conspire in creating fun,
play evanescent games of their own making,
making the gifts of the day seem a waste.
And to hear the youngest not just not complain,
but crest a rise and reflexively exclaim
over a snow-tinged scene, gratifies the adults
like the glimpse of a deer bounding away,
a fleeting feeling we would love to encounter
every ordinary day, as if each one were a gift.
A gift of a poem from Devon Marsh.
Devon Marsh served as a U.S. Navy pilot before a career in banking. The only course he ever dropped in college was an elective on poetry. His poems have appeared in The Lake, Poydras Review, The Timberline Review, Muddy River Review, Black Bough Poetry, Split Rock Review, River Mouth Review, and other journals; short fiction in Into the Ruins; and an essay in periodicities: a journal of poetry and poetics. A novella, How I Know, and a memoir he compiled for his father, Never a Hero, are available on Amazon. Devon lives in the North Carolina piedmont.
You can find more of his work here: https://devonmarsh.com/poetry/