Sitting In A Wheelbarrow

 

Evening gives way to night
in the neighboring woods, wild boars grunt
from the village below, a dog’s barking reaches me
before me, the lights of the village Roure
above them, the stars
sitting in a wheelbarrow near the campfire
hands outstretched before me
palms down over the flames
I ponder the long journey that brought me here
to Counorgio on Cold Mountain.