massive and muscled,
a white-rumped, bearded beauty
on the cusp of rut,
he is progeny of an ancestral herd
that knew this place –
before the farm, before the road
when the slough ran thick with salmon,
the forage was rich
and egrets and heron stalked the shallows
forest of spruce and fir at his back
he stands at the edge of a clearing
taking in the expansive green
he has a taste for sedge and willow
and something else –
as yet elusive, but familiar
he lifts his head
and bugles across the beaver meadow
breath condensing in the chill dawn
testing the waters
announcing his place in this world
sending out invitations
Barbara Parchim
(previously published Ashland News 5/13/25)
Barbara Parchim lives on a small farm in southwest Oregon and enjoys gardening and wilderness hiking. She volunteered for several years at a wildlife rehabilitation facility caring for raptors and wolves. Her poems have appeared in numerous journals as well as two books of poetry – What Remains (2021) and Muscle Tree (2024), both published by Flowstone Press.
Forest Elk
