Gnomeville

by John Reinhart

just beyond the meadow

where three trees fell last year

in the windstorm, one crossing

the shallow ravine, mushrooms

marking the soft places where insects

hide where little people disappear

in shadows, a bootprint here, flash

of red cap there, a quiet place

except for the 45 minutes

when 24 first graders traipse

into the woods, reconfiguring

themselves into the environment,

falling over each other to dig

into the leaves, leaving

gems and notes for the sprites

to find between the shadows

under a sliver of moonlight,

shifting toadstools for crickets,

fireflies overhead, dance shoes

tapping out time to bless

the ground for the bigger

little feet coming back tomorrow