TOO LATE

A dry leaf scuttles into non-sensual contact

with the water to sail a little while in the wind;

my reverie always jostled by noisy people

dressed in bright colors. From where I stand,

they look like so much non-sentient litter scattered

on the banks of the river. Their manufactured

cackles break on the rocks.

The Hemlocks drip green, into the air as thick

breezes pillow their way through the humid breath of

the forest while I wander off the trail. A perfect Poplar

sapling sacrifices itself to my knife. I drop strips of

smooth bark, a yellow trail to follow home and will

keep this stick, a memento of that time I escaped into

a mirror of who I am, when everything smiled at the

quantum entanglement of itself and me.

Some niggling thing nudges me to pause, the light

is gold dapples, the breath of Pines and Maple like

airy syrup. I plant the end of my staff on a rock,

close my eyes and lean into the things that made me;

The Book of John, Jules Verne, Graham Greene,

D. H. Lawrence, Tolkien, Bukowski, like my guts were

painted by some cross between Renoir, Picasso

and O’Keefe, so I fit in. My perceptions match my dreams,.

my expectations in pieces on the shoulders of the road.

There is movement on the water where the

ledge that dips its toes into the pool and

the sky floats on passing clouds, a young

woman with ginger feet slides headfirst into

the mirror with barely a ripple and my smile

turns to a grin I can carry with me all the

way to Buzzard’s Roost, a cold IPA and a

long vista into the smoky distance.

Reviews

[emmajoygreen]

'he Book of John, Jules Verne, Graham Greene,
D. H. Lawrence, Tolkien, Bukowski, like my guts were
painted by some cross between Renoir, Picasso
and O’Keefe, so I fit in. My perceptions match my dreams,
my expectations in pieces on the shoulders of the road.'

Fine words and many that enclose even more, laid so carefully and adademically. Perhaps it's what we read, what we learn, guides the eyes and mind to never stop looking, to live life by loving it.. giving, gazing, absorbing and

'There is movement on the water where the
ledge that dips its toes into the pool and
the sky floats on passing ..

Thoughtful acceptance..

[Vol]

Emma,
Thanks for stopping by. There is a place in Tennessee called Fall Creek Falls State Park that has been a part of my life since the early seventies. Multiple waterfalls, swinging bridges, and a dense forest of hemlocks, Pines, Oaks, Hickory, Rhododendron, and Mountain Laurel. It is worth a Google if you get a chance.
Vol

[emmajoygreen]

Will Google later ,, is 18.43 right now, wiould love to see such a beautifyul place. Thanks lots for sharing, sir Vol!

[jacob erin-cilberto]

I love the metaphorical nature of this...and relate in a special way to the Pines, North Carolina and my folks in retirement for their final years...and then the gift they gave my sister and me in our youth...summers in Vermont and falls as well with the beautiful colors of the maples. And the debris floating in the water...
times have changed and the waters are quite polluted with the hate that has floated with the current
state of the world.
j.

[Vol]

Jacob,
Thank you! The place is Fall Creek Falls State Park in Tennessee. I've been going there since the early seventies, and more to offer than the Smokies, if you ever get the chance...
Vol