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Getting Lost in the Woods on a Snowy Evening

Does anyone have a map?

By Meredith HarmonPublished about a year ago • 1 min read
Good luck getting out. Image made with Magic Photos AI.

Damn that smug old Robert Frost!

Path less traveled? Well, I’m LOST!

Twenty wood posts make a fence

But it makes no difference

To one who hates a snowy wood-

I want to leave! I wish I could!

They’ll never find me at all, since

The snow has left no footy-prints

Starkly dark. Where did I park?

Curse this wild impulsive lark!

I’ve lost the trail. Did I misstep?

Did my phone in pocket schlepped

Fin’lly receive a distant ping

From down-filled depths, the faintest ring?

Bespeak of civil harkening!

Bring me succor! It’s darkening!

What do you mean, all lines are busy?

I’m feeling faint, I’m feeling dizzy…

Which way to turn? Which way to go?

I throw my phone into the snow-

Welp, that was dumb.

I sit on stump, my butt now numb.

Now what?

…

…

...

I really can’t retreat, no back-steps to retrace,

Or keep sitting in the chill, meet death in cold embrace,

I threw away my light and map and contact with the world,

One hissy fit completes the game, set, match, and knit, and purl...

I’m beginning to hallucinate,

As these dark thoughts I contemplate:

A fence and field imply a trail,

Don’t they? To no avail

I search in quickly darkening gloom

For a faint glimmer of light

To quell my sense of impending doom.

In panic, my poor eyesight

Stimulates nerves to to look left and right

To look for something resembling light

Before mylegs inpanickedflight

Takeoffrunning-

Wait.

What’s that?

Ah, the moon!

You thing of beauty! A nighttime guide!

My terror took me for a ride

And still may, if I don’t move.

If I survive, it may behoove

Me to think before I traipse

Through snowy woods, on faintest trace

Of covered track in strangest place.

Come on legs, let’s get a-walking,

If we live, we’ll get a-talking

To experts on how to really take

A walk and live, for survival’s sake.

nature poetry

About the Creator

Meredith Harmon

Mix equal parts anthropologist, biologist, geologist, and artisan, stir and heat in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country, sprinkle with a heaping pile of odd life experiences. Half-baked.

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    Written by Meredith Harmon