the trail . . .

the hiker slowly falls behind the others
inching his way across the mountain peak
toward the day’s destination
ten miles hence.
it is peaceful here
walking among the blackberries
ripened by the late spring sun
and eaten by hungry black bears.
the hiker stops to adjust his pack
and takes a drink of tepid water
from the nalgene bottle
which hangs at his side.
white blazes mark the trail
beckoning the hiker to follow
as he quietly sings to himself
a song that has been trapped in his head.
over the peak and down
into the gap the hiker travels
greeted by the rushing waters
of a rocky brook,
shaded by a canopy of laurels.
he sits on the edge of the water
to remove his boots and socks
before he fords the stream.
the hiker is compelled
to sit for a while
feet dangling in the icy waters
of this swiftly-moving mountain brook.

-- Mike Baldwin aka:argon[one]

woodstock meets river

This is River.  His real name is Ryan and he lives in Miami [normally]. For the past three months and for the next three months he lives somewhere between Springer Mountain, Georgia and Mount Katahdin, Maine. River is his trail name. Anyone who hikes or backpacks a lot earns [establishes, determines, adopts, proclaims] a trail name. My trail name is Woodstock.

My wife and I did a 2700+ mile road trip to Boston recently and along the way we spent time driving on the Blue Ridge Parkway [which goes from Cherokee, North Carolina to the Shenandoah National Forest, Virginia [where it becomes Skyline Drive]. The Blue Ridge Parkway and the Appalachian Trail [a 2200+ mile footpath from Georgia to Maine] intertwine through Virginia. Every time the parkway crossed the Appalachian Trail [AT] I had to stop and take pictures and hike on the trail. It took us a long time to get through that section because of this. We were near the Harvey's Knob crossing taking pictures and hiking on the AT, talking about past times on the this trail, thinking about future times, and saying how great it would be to talk to a thru-hiker [someone who is hiking the entire trail all at once], when we see this young man coming up over the ridge toward us. He stopped and talked to us for a while. He's right in the middle of his 6-month trek. He started at Springer Mountain on March 31, 2012. What an adventure.

You can follow River's adventure on his blog, takeoffyourshoes

sweet fern

The subtle power in perfume found
Nor priest nor sibyl vainly learned;
On Grecian shrine or Aztec mound
No censer idly burned.

That power the old-time worships knew,
The Corybantes' frenzied dance,
The Pythian priestess swooning through
The wonderland of trance.

And Nature holds, in wood and field,
Her thousand sunlit censers still;
To spells of flower and shrub we yield
Against or with our will.

I climbed a hill path strange and new
With slow feet, pausing at each turn;
A sudden waft of west wind blew
The breath of the sweet fern.

That fragrance from my vision swept
The alien landscape; in its stead,
Up fairer hills of youth I stepped,
As light of heart as tread.

I saw my boyhood's lakelet shine
Once more through rifts of woodland shade;
I knew my river's winding line
By morning mist betrayed.

With me June's freshness, lapsing brook,
Murmurs of leaf and bee, the call
Of birds, and one in voice and look
In keeping with them all.

A fern beside the way we went
She plucked, and, smiling, held it up,
While from her hand the wild, sweet scent
I drank as from a cup.

O potent witchery of smell!
The dust-dry leaves to life return,
And she who plucked them owns the spell
And lifts her ghostly fern.

Or sense or spirit? Who shall say
What touch the chord of memory thrills?
It passed, and left the August day
Ablaze on lonely hills.

John Greenleaf Whittier

i'll build a stairway to paradise

Begin to day!
You'll find it nice,
The quickest way to paradise.
When you practise,
Here's the thing to know,
Simply say as you go...

I'll build a stairway to Paradise
With a new step ev'ry day !
I'm gonna get there at any price;
Stand aside, I'm on my way !
I've got the blues
And up above it's so fair.
Shoes ! Go on and carry me there !
I'll build a stairway to Paradise
With a new step ev'ry day.

George Gershwin