If I were a hiking trail,
people would know
about me, but would not
often choose me
as a destination.
I am off the beaten path,
easy to find, and easy
to forget; tidy and groomed,
perhaps intimidating
and uncomfortable.
I am welcoming, designed to be
helpful and accessible.
Yet my trail is lonely
most of the time.
The path is worn by weather
and time, more than by use
and experience.
Smooth, with roots showing,
like bones;
A knotty branch
threatening to
trip you up.
Rocky sections require
patience and strength.
You may be weary
traveling here.
My trail can by buggy.
Sometimes, you have to slap
the flies off of your sweaty
shoulder blades
as if performing a penance.
Or, you may need to
wave your arms
to shoo away gnats
sticking in your hair:
annoying, but hardly
dangerous.
On sunny days, I am warm
and bright. The heat fills
you up, gives you energy,
becomes your friend.
Gray days make shady spots
gloomy and sad.
You don’t want to keep going.
Friendly winds blow,
caressing the leaves
and boughs of the trees.
My trail winds through patches
of fiddlehead ferns and wildflowers –
yellows, pinks, violet.
The green leaves change
in sun and shade.
The light shining through them
dances and waves “look at me.”
You can look out at the sky and trees
and feel envy that you are not
on those other,
probably better, trails.
On my trail you must keep climbing.
There are no benches
or places to rest.
Keep walking,
keep moving toward a
destination.
