Four white socks,
And a Lowenbrau Lion blaze
Dividing mischievous brown eyes.
On lazy Saturday mornings full of
Sun, fresh water, muck forks,
He hangs his head over the fence,
Tongue offered: “You pull.”
Turns out you can look a gift horse in the mouth…
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.
Walking weather in mud season.
Wending down the road that just
Hosted skiers, snowmobiles, sleds.
Eight paws, two noses, four ears,
Cracking from fox print to moose print
To last years elk carcass.
Spring sun sooths my shoulders.
Crisp air worries my ears.
Already the scale has tipped,
Favoring the roots stirring out of sight.
I can hear ice give way to water.
Water wending its way through ice,
Mixing with soil under the morning frost.
For a moment it’s the hard thud of
Then sliding from ice to mud,
We trudge our way home.