Reunion Number Twenty Poem by Bill Galvin

Lost Man Creek Trail, Redwood Nat’l Park, NorCal

Moving south today on 101, passing again
Thru Redwood and Prairie Creek Parks.
Was sure I now knew where the area was
Which took our breath away many moons ago,
Cal-Barrel Road off Drury Scenic Parkway.
But it’s gated until the roadbed is dry enough for travel.

So, I moved on down the line
To explore Lost Man Creek environs.
I drove as far as the dirt road allows,
Then hiked to a lovely place where two bridges
Switch back over the creek twenty feet below.
Spring groundcover contains many ferns, wild ginger,
Velvet-white trilliums, and redwood sorrel.

I am the only visitor here; it is quiet,
And the walk resurrects many memories
Of woods walks in our later years
When vitality and stamina were in shorter supply.
These were solid, worthy substitutes
For the steep mountain trails of our youth.

I pause at the first bridge,
The rippling of the stream is so pleasant.
Once again, I think, “You would love this place”.
You used to love the way I could find
The natural nooks, and comfortable spaces
In the most out-of-the-way places,
Even with your later physical limitations.
So, once again, thoughts of your absence
Send me to grieving loudly; and the birds songs
Are silenced only a few seconds, after which
They resume normal activity; as do most people,
Soon after feeling a tragic loss.
I am waiting… still bruised, with open wounds;
Hoping this trip helps me to heal… jury still out.

My boots and my walking stick mark cadence…
The rhythmic sounds of forward progress,
And of passing time.
One, two, three, click… one, two, three, click.
One more series of steps; a few more moments
Closer to the end of the line, and Final Reunion.

I see a well-worn path down the bank to water’s edge.
A dicey scramble over redwood roots,
Thru four-foot-high ferns and huckleberry
Brings me to a dry streambed strewn with rocks,
But still running ten feet wide, three feet deep
Where I situate myself, with minor rapids
Twenty feet away up and down stream.

I guess all these reunions are about me; my sanity.
They are metaphors, of sorts, for the survivor,
For the one left living, to give me a focus,
That is not a distraction from remembering you.
And the personal tragedy being played out today
Is simply being in utmost beautifully inspiring
Natural surroundings without you beside me,
Sitting on a log, or holding a hand,
Breathing the clean air, grokking everything,
Or just wowing together.

Like the Bard of Avon once said,
“All the world’s a stage;
All the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances.”
Well, today, I am playing the role of Lost Man.
That’s the irony that brought me here;
And I know you’d love this place, too,
That’s why I offer some of your beautiful locks,
And they float downstream with other Water Spirits,
To merge a few short miles away with the Pacific.
You pause with me at the calm inside river bend,
Lying in the noonday sun shining off the water,
Before I encourage you to go with the flow.

And so you do… I’ll try to do the same.

4-23-2015