Dropping into the traffic flow,
I’m a traveler amid the rush,
120 of 2181 Appalachian miles .
Vibrant moments, giddy start.
That mile fades as a fraction
1/120 for me or 1/2181 for my brother
So much dirt and rocks,
Roots and stones,
Simply one foot follows the other.
Toiling up a mountain to
Pick my way back down.
My brain, unleashed and free,
Turns repetitive mill horse, circling,
One song bomb after another:
“Hey now, you’re an Allstar…”
“You’re gonna miss me when I’m gone”
“Hey Hey Hey Bobby McGeeeeeeee.”
Maple, Oak, Sweetgum
Rhododendron and Mountain Laurel.
Like so many commuters, tunnels,
Passing my repeating feet.
Me as if still and they in their rush.
And each step careful
Placed just so
Negotiating the stone under my step.
Limping and blistered,
I long for the commute again.