Trails - Part IV

Forest primeval

floor of hunter green moss

and mountain laurel

towering oak, old when the

earth was young

maple the color of wildfire

and ferns, shoulder high

the fuzzy tips of their tongues

curled in whispered sneer

surround me.

A solitary beam of golden light

peers through a hole in gilded cotton sky

the color of slate,

reaching, like a lonely finger

through a tear in space and time

as if to spotlight my wanderlust

and transmit its findings

back to the mother ship.

The piercing sliver seers my retina

only to take cover in the ghostly mist

before it can be taken and held prisoner below.

I hear the crisp bark of a red fox

somewhere below, toward the valley

a she-fox, I deduce from the

from the cacophony of tiny yelps

that follow the initial snap.

A muted rustle of leaves

precedes, if only by moments,

the sudden shower of acorns

and impudent chitter of rebuke

from the tangle of heavy limbs

above my furrowed brow.

The chittering ends abruptly

when I presume acceptance

and join in laughter at the joke

only to be answered

by sounds of tiny, clawed scurrying feet.

I amble on,

ignoring the trusty compass

strapped to my wrist,

I travel by instinct to a place

far distant from whence I began;

a destination unknown to me

but felt with a yearning

that crowds that place

of obsession steadfastly defended

by lost sailors and woodsmen

in the cinema of my dreams.

A siren’s whisper promises

in echoes in my mind

that the place to which I journey

like love, will be known to me

when the final step is made.