Fertile Ground by Michael Ceraolo

Fertile Ground

The seeds of this poem were sown long ago,

though it took years for me to realize it

When I was old enough to walk to school by myself,

either in second or third grade

(there were two or three streets to cross

without benefit of crossing guards),

there was the prescribed way to go,

and I usually went that way

But not always

                         Sometimes I would walk

one,

         two,

                 or even three

streets out of the way to make it a different way,

arriving at school late on those days

I would look to see if anything was different

on any of those other streets

I didn't notice a whole lot different:

the sidewalks were a similar mix

of concrete blocks and slabs of the local bluestone;

the houses were mostly the same

and the roads were similarly paved,

though on two of the streets it seemed

that there were a few more taller trees

These occasional excursions

led to further explorations,

this time on non-school days

There was another street

where the newer section of the paved road ended:

there were houses only on the east side;

there were woods on the west side

where the sidewalk ended,

                                        and

I would explore the woods all the way

back to where they butted up against

the fenced-in gold course

                                        And

even back then I was glad I had,

                                                 for

in a few years the road was extended again,

the woods torn down,

                                and new homes built

I am still exploring the area,

and noting the changes