Walking The Trail, Noticing

It’s in the pause of walk and mind that you take the time to notice the way flowers bend to wind, a dance to a song with grace - you settle in, slow down, listening becomes an act of gratitude

An aged wall beckons, stone surface all moss and lichen and rugged, a reminder of those who long ago forged out farms here, divided these lands with rocks pulled up from this dirt, a straddle between time and place, and the original people here even before them

A leaf free-falls, green with red fringe and orange veins mapped at the center, a floater from a branch above, and you love the motion of it, the tumbling – the turning, and how gently it joins its brethren on ground, resting for its next act as nutrient to nourish the soil

Further on, the river bends, then breaks beneath a small concrete bridge - you duck to follow the flow of water into the dark, cooler air, unsettled, the shadowed curves of smooth walls knitted with graffiti hearts and chalk marks, the stone pathway slippery under foot

You are boot-jumping roots now, in through the wetlands of woodlands, mosquitoes whispering in your ears, the pungent stretch where thick muck grabs and holds you, and this green, an illusion of stability, of , of solidity, of steady, but it’s not, and never will be, of here where the tricksters await

Then, just beyond the trail, trees open up arms wide at the edge of noticing,: bright summer light suddenly spilling in, a liminal space between this wild, and not, transforming into transitory, made complete by an engine motoring by, the quiet of the woods left behind for another day