A long day's hike begins early in the
morn,
gathered at a parking lot, early risers
pay their fee,
and the community celebrates, silence
without the daily horn.
Amicably they separate with gracious
farewells,
Wishing goodbye, good luck as
separation by speed occurs,
On a trail as smooth, wide, and flat as
the river it parallels.
For three miles, an hour, occasional
conversation,
But side vistas, a short stroll, or a
waterfall are the aim,
Onward, alone and without company
requires acclimatization.
Five miles, four rivers, a bare
campground,
The path before one's feet, fills
the void,
With the splash of shallow water on
rocks; sound.
Eventually up one must climb, ascending
from the forest floor,
A hidden trail, as alone as I, leads a
strenuous wind,
Looking out: view the breathtaking
backside of the west Pemi four.
Awaiting upon the peak a sage stands,
Been here before, he calmly expounds,
Don't throw orange peels on the ground,
As he picks up others' garbage by hand.
Though company might be nice,
his slow decent makes me reconsider
twice,
And I move quickly, wishing to be done,
Before the setting of the summer sun.
Three hours more without a sound,
Except the internal voice, singing
One inane pop song, the same line going
round.
Alone, without fellowship, one forges
their own company,
and dares to craft an audience to
receive their words,
inviting the woods to partake or
produce its own symphony.
Nine miles in, out nine more, and eight
of them past,
Onward now surges the afternoon crowd,
Friends out for a stroll, parents with
children, harassed.
With more of a whimper than a shout,
My feet leave the path and land on
pavement.
I walk ten feet to the car, wiped out.
So ends a journey, spent mostly in Solitude,
Like Thoreau discovered it,
A glory and a curse, freedom and a cage,
To live as one secluded.
Poetry Series
2016:
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