by underswansea


Walked an old trail to a place that was once special to me. Where there used to be an old boot nailed to a tree. It’s all different now. It was where we sang songs and looked for orchids. It was where an owl flew close to me for the first time and how wonderful it made me feel. My heart pounded in my tiny chest while I watched it soar away through the spruce and poplar. We caught Cutthroat off the logs, but I preferred the bank above the deep pool, so I could look through my reflection and see the fish around my hook. You would point out tracks; a bobcat, a cougar, sometimes a bear would cross our path. The Whiskey Jacks would beg for a piece of lunch and follow us back down the trail, flying from branch to branch, squawking so we wouldn’t forget them. It was a long time before you let me cross the log over the river on my own. To long for my liking, I remember thinking. Now, to have just one moment back, beside these creeks, among autumn leaves would be worth more than gold falling from the trees. I knew it couldn’t be. It’s all different now. Still I looked. The path was quiet on the way out, only the sound of the creek. To keep me company, I sang a song for old times’ sake.