Where I Tell Dianne about the Civil War

We walk together.
Longer than we imagined.

We know the trail well.
We know where to help each other.

There are no wrong turns.
We know all the trails.

Some dead end at boulders.
Others make loops.

One goes up and over the ridge line.
Another follows the arroyo east.

We pass by strangers.
We hear snippets of their stories.

We hear mountain bike bells.
We hear thrashers and towhees.

We never ascend to the crest.
We remain below the tree line.

We never doubt
our return to the trail head.

copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney

Place of Power

A bad road to a vehicle
is probably a good road to walk.

The walk takes you
who knows where.

Bad roads fall off maps
and become lonely places—

places to be alone
among wildlife multitudes.

Out there as you watch the ghosts
of bugs eaten by birds in flight

you may decide it is time
to bury your talisman under freedom.

It may take you days to notice
there are no boundaries.

Neither rivers nor mountains
are boundaries if you learn their ways.

copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney