I have no expectations
and only so much time
to take a walk 
along a nearby trail.

Hiding below a wooden rail,
An arachnid known as a Brown Harvestman rests.
Though spider-like, it's not, 
for its body is single segmented.

Curious to see
what else the posts may offer
I meet a slow-moving Yellow Bear caterpillar,
It's rusty-brown hairs warning me not to touch. 

A few feet away,
Whimsical with its brilliant red caps,
known as the apothecia or fruiting bodies, 
a British Soldier lichen protrudes with a pop of color. 

As I continue, one Harvestman 
becomes two, or three, resting below,
and the long legs of these Daddies
is all I can see.

And then by complete surprise,
Hunchbacked in its former nymphal form, 
with legs so stout and lobster-like claws,
I find a shed exuvia and my heart skips a beat. 

Like the Harvestmen, 
where there is one, there's another,
and I can only imagine
their watermelon tourmaline bodies slowly emerging.

It's when I spot a crawling creature
colored with vivid camouflage
and golden-veined wings,
I realize I've missed one of my favorite views of metamorphosis.

But still I am there to watch 
as the adult form reaches out, 
one muscular foot at at time,
as it walks first sideways and then skyward.

I know from experience
its tented wings will soon spread,
but worry it will meet the web beside it,
and rejoice when it instead finally flies into the forest. 

On this late summer day I find another,
and can only hope these Dog-day Cicadas
have time to sing their raspy love songs
that will continue the circle of life as they know it. 

A few more steps and I must backtrack,
for something large garners my attention,
its mottled pattern resembling the post 
upon which this Carolina Sphinx moth rests. 

A rustle and wing beats cause me to turn my gaze upward,
and I spot a Broad-winged Hawk landing,
and surveying the territory
for a consumable meal. 

Intently, it looks down,
and all around with ten times the focus of my sight,
those predator eyes fixed as they are,
it must turn its head to see.

As I move the telescopic lens
I begin to wonder if it thinks its a creature
and I must admit that I duck
when it flies off . . . first toward me before swerving.

All of these sights I spy
in the course of forty-five minutes
and maybe three quarters of a mile
along the Mountain Division Trail.

On this day, 
I develop a love affair
with the fence posts and all who gather there. 
Can you imagine if I'd gone any farther?