In the path,
hoof prints
of deer, I know.
They use the paths
I’ve made
uphill and across,
yet make their own
through prairie grass
which I also walk
and glory in moonlight.
We are here
in separate times –
almost…
Suddenly we see
each other –
stare…
They flee,
and I wonder…
~ Duane L Herrmann
Herrmann was surprised to find himself in 1951 on a prairie farm. Trying to make sense of that, he wrote. His work has been published in print and online, some in languages he can’t read. He survived a traumatic, abusive childhood embellished with dyslexia, ADHD, cyclothymia, now, PTSD.