They say Indians walked along this creek
and I believe it.
The trail is littered with winter's wreckage.
I choose my steps carefully, avoiding twigs and branches.
My moccasins,
printing soft, decayed leaves into the loam with
barely a whisper.
I sense ancient souls here, standing still
among the trees.
The beaten, broken, long-suffering trees.
Weathered oak and elm giants, twisting upward, seeking light
but today- only a dismal gray wash, filtered
through a witch's tangle of creaking bone
and gnarled claw.
The hollow
echoing beat of a distant
woodpecker, and then a deep
stillness.
Fresh deer tracks pepper
a muddy slope leading to the water- -gleaming
stealthily through a sparse growth of saplings.
I spot a familiar rock,
a lonely, jagged recluse, jutting
from a pebbly shallows.
It gets quiet in the woods as dusk nears.
Sometimes, a bit too quiet.
On a whim, I leave the path, and vanish
beneath a grouping of tall pines.
A purple mist descends...
I am not
alone.
Beautiful depiction of a walk through nature, perhaps a very similar walk to one taken all those years ago by an ancient Native American. Just wonderful. We have a park near where I live and I go hiking there often. No real documented proof that it was ever inhabited by native Americans, but oftentimes when I reach a cliff serving as a lookout point (off trail of course is where the best of these is found) I wonder to myself if great councils ever took place in those spots overlooking their territory. Finally, when you said I am not alone. Was it Jimi Hendrix accompanying you? ? ? It was right after you mentioned the purple mist (haze) .... Sorry for that, couldn't resist. Great write Brian
I enjoyed your journey along this ancient path truly experiencing and capturing the essence being so tuned in to nature as those that had gone before.....10
A wonderful, simple take on a jounery in Nature Brian.. One of the things that I find wonderful about it is how effortless it seems.. They are natural.. A fine one here. Thanks for sharing.
Wonderfully written. I am a lover of the outdoors and often feel the same things when communing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
strange workings of (or lack of workings of) my mind! i love this poem and it sounded so new to me. BUT i see i have already read and left a comment. despite a lack of humor OR rhyming here, i'm 'LOVING' this poem, maybe more than the first time. to MyPoemList. and i'd 'love' to have it in my/our December showcase, Section A, which is just getting under way. may i? ? ? i await your 'yea' or 'nay'. bri :)