I listen to crickets as the sky darkens.

This is contentment, watching the few Goldfinches light upon the feeders.

Soon, leaves will begin to flame and my thoughts turn to greedy

Black bears. Will we have a visitor this fall?

Last year I woke to see a brute feasting on black sunflower seeds.

We have deer who prefer our Hostas, groundhogs who prefer any

Tender new vegetable, foxes who seem to love our peaches,

And many creatures devour our fallen apples. I load the drops

In my packbasket to bring deeper into the woods. The sweet rot

Smell and buzzing bees make me smile.

We make peace with the fact that we share our harvest with wildlife.

There’s a log pile waiting to be cut and split, then stacked (my favorite chore).

Our woodstove will comfort us come winter. My black Lab soaks in its warmth, Like an Andrew Wyeth painting. This too is a season of contentment.

And when the diamond-like glittering snow blankets us, stinging my eyes,

My heart soars, breathing in the crisp air. Time to strap on the snowshoes,

Ready my cross-country skis.

The many seasons in my small hometown are exceedingly perfect.

I have lived in Wilmington longer than any other place. Born in Essex County,

Returning feels like destiny. The connections I’ve made fill my soul.

Friends for life, more precious as the years pass.

This is home.

(This poem was republished with permission from the author. It was written expressly for Wilmington’s bicentennial, the year 2022. “At age 63 I do not expect to witness the opening of the time capsule,” the author wrote, “however, I will be there in spirit.”)