Saturday, November 25, 2023

Rattlesnake Cliffs

two blue bars painted on a tree trunk

tell me the trail turns here, left or right

not specified, so I go left into unbarred wild

farther & farther — I know I’m wrong

though what is wrong about here vs there?

woods is woods, the mountain

never asked to be surveyed, to be signed

to be designated human-friendly space


by the time I make it back to the two bars

I know at least which way the trail

does not go, I know the freedom of turning

any which way, plus I know what’s growing

inside the root ball of the upturned pine

I’ve scaled the slope down to the water

visited mossy rocks & rills seldom seen

though as lovely as any along the trail


I turn right this time, cross the stream

climb a much steeper hill on a wider trail

truer to call it an old logging road

though no wheeled-beast could step

cautiously across the stream as I did

one foot on one stone, one on another

wishing not to fall & also wishing

yes — heedless, helpless, stunned —

to slip, to fall, to be swept away


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