HEMLOCK BLUFFS ONCE AGAIN along the ridge where the hemlock children gather around their mothers' skirts everything goes as it has gone before the glaciers' retreat left here and there on north-facing slopes pieces of the ancient cold forest here above the floodplain heads of the sycamores along the creek are underneath my feet I am watching flights of birds scatter below me the shade preserves patches of snow from the melt walking through it I pinch a whiff of fragrance from the feathery needles brushing my face blood circles my heart's warmth through me to my fingertips clouds course overhead I repeat the walk I have taken before and hear below me one man say to another something I can't quite make out