And the Living is Easy

A boardwalk

provides my passage

over the swampy grassland.

I walk forward,

slightly elevated,

seeing a Seussian tree

in the distance.

Ahead of me

is a bridge.

I will cross it when I get to it.

Mindlessly I walk,

I’m lost in thought again.

The rigid geometry of the bridge

rebels

against the placid abstractness

of the nature around it.

Something about the intersecting lines

draws me in and I stop.

Walking under a canopy of arched trees,

it’s like a tunnel drawing me closer.

I know not what awaits me further along the trail:

too many twists and turns remain

before my destination.

There are snakes here apparently.

The warning sign is a moment too late.

I jump back and he slithers off.

We both go about our days,

unchanged by our encounter.

The mountain appears,

seemingly out of nowhere.

I can see it over the railroad crossing.

It’s taller than I expected.

The sun is shining down on me

as I break through the canopy

into another clearing.

I’m getting closer to the bottom now.

Naked trees stand over

a disordered & leaf-strewn forest floor.

The trail cuts cleanly through it,

only subtly breaking

the muted grey-brown palette

left behind when autumn faded.

I reach a small stream.

Life abounds here.

I stop & look & feel,

absorbing it all.

I walk up the hill,

rocks cover everything.

I climb over them—

            bounding from

rock       to       rock

with a childlike playfulness.

I stop and look out,

the view is amazing.

I’m nearing the top now,

almost there.

The light becomes brighter,

the heat pushes against me.

I can’t stop now,

not even for a break.

I can see it.

There’s one more small climb

and a little turn before the top.

I see

a graffiti-covered mailbox

nailed to a tree,

letting me know

I can stop and rest now.

I have arrived.