Frosty Morns

When I was in elementary school, I set rabbit traps (we called them rabbit gums) for a couple of winters. I got up early, before the school bus came, and went to check them. I never caught anything, but I discovered a special peace on those cold, solitary morning treks. I wrote a poem about it:

Checking Rabbit Gums

The sky had just begun to lighten,

When I scrambled up and into clothes

And hurried out into the wintery cold

To where the persimmon tree grows.

The grass with its silver coat of frost

Crunches loudly beneath my feet.

As the crisp morning air hangs silent,

Not a single creature do I meet.

Usually I find the trapdoor still open,

And the food as left, way in the back.

But sometimes the gum would be sprung,

And there I stood without even a sack.

What might that wooden box hold?

With hesitation, I’d open the door.

Is there a rabbit, a coon, or a possum?

Could it be a skunk or something more?

Through the season, it was always the same.

No animal was ever caught.

But no greater peace have I ever found

Than on a stark morning walk.

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