the way to Wallace Falls

The day is like any other to most.
A beautiful Saturday morning in early Autumn, people doing their shopping, sitting on porches in the early light.
People getting ready to walk off the workweek up in the hills.

I blend in with the locals, just another person
and yet not.
An observer, a scribe with a lens and head full of random thoughts
as I find the trail in the land of Gold Bar, and venture to hike up to Wallace Falls.

The 7.4 miles of peace brings logic to the chaos of the Capitalism in my life.
Muscles that were in knots loosen their grip,
and allows me to feel Mother Nature.

A chipmunk taps my shoe, looking in my eyes
having something to say.
I bend my ear and stare into it’s curious face.
The chipmunk turns to reveal a tumor on it’s side.
Like Autumn itself, he will not live long,

and will lay down to rest in winter’s embrace.

Lovers hands are gripped together
children dance past, laughing
old women converse about the mundane.
What a strange tribe we all are.

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?