And the Living is Easy

A boardwalk provides my passage over the swampy grassland.

I walk forward, slightly elevated, seeing a Seussian tree in the distance.

Ahead of me is a bridge. I will cross it when I get to it.

Mindlessly I walk. I’m lost in thought again.

The rigid geometry of the bridge rebels against the placid abstractness of the nature around it. Something about the intersecting lines draws me in and I stop.

Walking under a canopy of arched trees, it’s like a tunnel drawing me closer. I know not what awaits me further along the trail: too many twists and turns remain before my destination.

There are snakes here apparently. The warning sign is a moment too late. I jump back and he slithers off. We both go about our days, unchanged by our encounter.

The mountain appears, seemingly out of nowhere. I can see it over the railroad crossing. It’s taller than I expected.

The sun is shining down on me as I break through the canopy into another clearing. I’m getting closer to the bottom now.

Naked trees stand over a disordered & leaf-strewn forest floor. The trail cuts cleanly through it, only subtly breaking the muted grey-brown palette left behind when autumn faded.

I reach a small stream. Life abounds here. I stop & look & feel, absorbing it all.

I walk up the hill, rocks cover everything. I climb over them— bounding from rock to rock with a childlike playfulness.

I stop and look out, the view is amazing.

I’m nearing the top now, almost there. The light becomes brighter, the heat pushes against me. I can’t stop now, not even for a break. I can see it.

There’s one more small climb and a little turn before the top.

I see a graffiti-covered mailbox nailed to a tree, letting me know I can stop and rest now.

I have arrived.