Frown lines

You can't miss the two coulees between my eyebrows. They look especially deep this morning. What's the matter, people often ask. Nothing, I reply. Just thinking. I don't tell them the coulees are the result of my mind's glacial drainage. Years of erosion. Sure, when I frown they deepen, but that's ok because it means I'm looking. That's my job. And if I look closely enough, close enough to peer into them, I just might see poplar. Chokecherries. Hawthorn. Great horned owls might hunt there, passing shadows over the deer that are bedded down. I might see deer trails, trails I'd love to follow even though I'd have to duck. There I'd be sheltered. And if I squint I might be able to see foxholes on the steepest sides. They're hard to see in the dappled light. I know. Squinting only makes the coulees grow deeper, but squint I must to find my way down.