Who Is It?

I live at the end of a

long country driveway.

It twists and turns

is rocky and rutted

ridiculously icy

this time of year.

You would think

it would put off

unexpected visitors.

And yet…

…the unexpected

occasionally walks up

my drive, offering

salvation if I choose

to listen. On snowy

mornings it cuts across

from swamp to woods

leaving mysterious

paw prints. Now and

then it creeps up like  

an old truck in low gear,

bearing a warm loaf.

Sometimes the

unexpected taps

on the door to

return a book

I forgot

that I had lent.