Late fall
hike up
Wolf Mountain-
the dog leading as the inveterate
on a trail obscured by
fallen leaves.
Both  panting
as we summit,
drop the pack
and set up the tripod.
The viewfinder reveals 
one solitary birch or perhaps poplar
alone in color-
as if stoically
waiting for its own defoilation
 surrounded by those
disembodied and bare-
who like believers,
have shed their burdens in places of worship.
I am momentarily reminded of Bukowski’s
“You get so alone at times that
it just makes sense.”
K. Carter