Only four cars have passed by the church
in the last fifty minutes.
The crickets, the katydids, and one stray cat
are our only company
as we wait, listen.

Only once did we hear someone coughing
and then, a little later, what must have been
the SNAP of a root
as it was split by the shears.
In between, there’s been the dull thud
of the pickax against rock.

I look back at Carolann, who happens to be
looking toward me.
She holds up her wrist, taps her watch.
Ten-fifteen—time to switch.

I begin walking back to Carolann,
back toward the woods,
and that’s when we hear Malcolm’s low, steady whistle.