An inch or two of rain, and the falls are transformed. How easy it is to walk for miles on uneven ground — up, down, rocks, roots, leaves, ferns, moss, mud. On the hard surface of a residential street, where there are no obstacles, the feet soon tire and the muscles compress like old bed springs; but the trail is a veritable massage and the perfect recipe for dreamless sleep. And the climb out of the canyon, with warm mist on your face and clean water dripping from the trees onto your head, is a gathering and focus of inner and outer strength, mental, muscular, animal, spiritual — all of which, later, are mere words — or maybe I should say mirror words, for the reflection they are and the light they give. Because I see them shining on the dream of your face.
Categories: New Poems & Pieces