Across the Trail

 

Across the trail of time I go

to the place I had once found 

my pace in hiking - the first

time.  Hiking the Horseshoe

Trail, each step reminds my me

where the gentle portions of my

soul had picked out the way a 

footfall feeds a heartbeat; and a

heartbeat lulls the soul to 

sleeping while yet wide awake.

The scent of the earth here is

made up of hickory bark and black

walnut shells.  The sight of humus

is fraught with worms determined 

to consume every nutrient at 

their surround.  So pebbled is the

dirt it crumbles as I pull out 

strands of Canary Grass - in

great clumps - fistfuls at a time.

How can so much from the past

be laced into my very steps today.

Does not the earth herself re-

member me from passing this way

more than once.  She must.  But still

my life has meanings here, if she does

not.  Meanings bent on giving me 

over to the grandeur of becoming 

more than a man.  But, less than a 

god.  Pure spirit, yes spirit. Hope.