"Wosh-i-tah."
The ticks' trailhead
Begins at our socks,
Covering curious feet
That veer from the trail
To step into a lost kingdom
Where we sit atop an adders' den:
A reckless hike coup
In ignorant bliss
In December.
Small price to pay for our "big hunt"
The gifts gathered from your floor:
Hiking sticks in the rough,
More useful to us than diamonds;
Tortoise shells and feathers,
Our bangles and ribbons;
Lightning-charred pine cones,
Will they regenerate our homestead?
A Ouachita walk in the woods:
Magic fellowship of four blooming
Outside the confines of four cramped walls.
That's the kind of walk I love, and the treasures gathered are better than anything sold at Walmart!
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