Oregon Beaked Moss softly feathers over black rock
And cradles brittle white patches of Reindeer Lichen
Liverwort crescents trace drip-lines of shore pines
Rising from mossy hollows of the moist green ground
There are only a few species of trees that grow here
Arbutus and shore pine can survive in small hollows
But all the trees here are shallow rooted under moss
Trees can thrive trough winter dampness in this place
But mossy ground will crunch summer dry all around them
And on that dry summer day these trees may just wonder
Why they ever picked this silent place to struggle in
Deer have walked through here I can tell
They have browsed on the few low shrubs
And left smooth round brown droppings
Along the trails that cross the land
Trails that lead away to somewhere else
Trails that lead to here from somewhere else
I can’t say for sure how these trails were made
Or where each of these bare earth ribbons lead
And I have never seen a deer on a trail here
But the deer are here and so are trails
I've just never seen the two together
Not like in my garden below that hill
Where I have watched deer walk both ways
Very early or late in the day’s light
Into and out of our planted garden
Along steep and narrow rock pathways
That cross the hill behind our home
All leading toward the wind-blown sea
