Once, in a barren strip of land
between highway and train tracks,
a groundhog’s head
popped up from his hole
to survey his rodent kingdom.
He caught my eye as I waited there
for the stoplight to turn green.
Twenty years on, I rarely pass
that still-empty patch of dusty ground
without recalling his grizzled face,
wondering how long he survived
in such a desolate place,
and wishing I could have told him
he left tracks upon my soul.
The Long Shadow
Filed under poetry
Ruth Hull Chatlien 
What a lovely memory and honor to Mr. Groundhog. 🙂
Thank you, Susan.
very thought provoking———
Thank you, Florence.