BEFORE THE STORMS

           

Surprisingly, there were not a lot of people near the paths. A Sunday afternoon at two o’clock is prime time for crowds made up of all kinds. I was pleasantly surprised. Heading inwards I thought of the weather forecast that talked about night rain. That was hours off, but I wondered what it would be like there in the rain and the evening mixed together. A man said that that black trees were from a forest fire years ago, but I had always thought they were from lightning. Hard to know for certain. The sky was mostly gray, and hidden was the deep blue picaresque cover that is longed for. That was okay. Proceeding, we winded through the area looking at the shrubs and some mushroom growth. I wonder what it is like to see actual ‘old growth’ trees, - the real big ones. There is nothing like that in the forest that we visit. However, it has its own character and that is enough for now. I didn’t see the coyote, - he may be the carcass that is still spread out on the road side up the way, - or he may be hiding or busy or other. To go back, instead of the regular, a different way, - up the large hill. Some of it is ashen and some of it is verdant. All of it is quite soft. Wolfe and Tessa sniff around, look around. It’s actually not their favorite but it is not bad or disliked. A nice tree line. On both sides. Some tiny bits of blue showing through. A hawk comes and quickly sees we are far too big for him. Creating a small silhouette of what he really is, a flight away is taken and dispersion over the trees. Poof. Like magic. A hawk. A small intuition of such. A dot. Then nothing. Sitting around there for a bit, - looking at the rocks. One is split in a few directions. There are a series of wonderful small blue wildflowers hiding amongst the grasses. The old farmer said the groundhogs and rabbits are gone, eaten by the coyotes. It is only then I thought that he must be right, as I have never seen a rabbit or groundhog around there. Looking at some snake holes, I remember the snake that crossed my path last summer, and the one I saw curled up, blended in and sleeping or resting in the side of a tree. Some stones, but I don’t bother with stones like I used to. Once they interested me and I looked at the veins, felt the vibration, surveyed the texture and admired odd markings. Now I can’t remember the last time I picked one up. I shall have to reach down and touch one sometime. I touch the trees at moments. I look up, and it’s one of those afternoons where it looks like rain is coming but the rain takes a long time, - hours. It still has not announced itself. We head down the summit, on the opposite side, - and walk along an almost secreted way. It is unseen and not traversed for the most part anyhow.  Going back the makeshift lot is practically full. Thank goodness we managed to get lucky and avoid everyone. We hop in and pull out. As the tires rotate, some dust awakens from the road and makes an opaque story in the air.



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