Creamer’s Field Wildlife Refuge
by Tom Sexton
Beyond the wide fields planted with barley
for the cranes, a speck of boreal forest
with nature trails, wild strawberries, pale iris,
seasonal marsh crossed by boardwalks now
jumbled like pick-up sticks thrown down
by a witless hand. The permafrost is melting.
All around me, birch and aspen are slowly
moving north, refugees with no other choice.
“You knew this was coming,” they seem to say.
Summer solstice. Yellow leaves drifting down.