Climbing higher up the High Cliffs
Wind and waves whip at my back
Finding footholds
And handholds that
Were carved from the rock
By the Winnebago waves
The Winnebago winds
And the Winnebago rains

The cliff crumbles as I pull myself over
The final hold the final ledge
And I flip myself so my rear end
Plops down on the edge
Feet dangling above
Hawks below me circling
For field mice skittering this way
And that. Hurdling
Toward their demise
A woodpecker thumps the beat
Of my heart against a fallen log
And a red tipped blackbird spots my feet

The rhythm grows and the blackbird sings
My thoughts about the Winnebago
Growing louder within me and without me
Deafening. Until a broken twig says so
Suddenly that a whitetail is nearby
A doe. Still
Flashing her eyes
And minutes go by
Before I raise my hand to wave
And her not-before-seen fawns leap
From their beds
And hightail their whitetails from their heap
Out of view and out of mind
Only to be replaced by the Lake
Full of the givings she’s given me
Thanking her for all she gives this place