Artists about the Trail

The Trail

by Catherine Conn

Past rough cedar posts, a maze
meant to keep out motorcycles,
marauders, I mosey into quiet.
Deep breath and
I leave the rest behind.

Down a hill, across the creek,
trillium - five or six plants
off the trail to my right.
They stand straight, exposed,
petals translucent
like sheer linen held to the sun.

Hiding under shiny green salal,
a clump of bleeding hearts-
pale leaves and pink beads
suffused with light.

Mist turns into rain, dropping.
Fiddleheads uncurl
against an alder stump. I count
ten growth rings, where moss
in grays and browns
have found a home.

Fragrance of pine –
with spring growth gold
they’re now a two-toned affair,
and Doug’ firs provide
the canopy.

There’s a peace in this place
that settles in. Just an hour
and some of my sweetness
returns. A gift I’ll pass on.