Along the Trail
A heavy chain stretches across the trail where it intersects with the road that runs past my house. From there, it curves across the valley’s floor back to a rough and tumble camp that an old man keeps by the creek.
It’s his retreat, a place to let his Yorkies romp and to work on the antique tractors he keeps there. A couple times a year he mows the trail. But now it’s mainly a set of tire tracks running through the grass.
I think of it as my private paradise since some of the land that borders it is mine. I walk its length often and watch the season’s change. And although I know it well, it always surprises me; it’s never the same.
But always it is beautiful.
Now white butterflies dart through goldenrod and grasses whose perfumes blend with the scent of the coming rain. On the hillside, the trees begin to don their autumn colors. Overhead, a hawk sails through milky skies.
Yes, always it is beautiful. It connects me to the earth and sets my heart free. It gives me peace, offers me treasures, and tells me wise tales to carry home to share with you.
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