Hills covered in Live Oaks and Cedar give way to flatter lands
To the East covered in Post Oaks and Loblolly Pines
The direction of the sunrise
Water and life more abundant
I pass slowly along a centuries-old road that was used to Christianize natives
To move them and new goods from their land to foreign ones
Lands that had been chosen for them by Consumption
The feral beauty of these places only increases as I travel North
Into the hills and emerald mountains
Into a land I’d never seen
A land of lakes and rain
A land of abundance
The rock is the same here as it is near my home
The geological history I adore
Everything else is strange and exciting
I am at home in a foreign land
I travel there constantly
I see the autumnal hues
The shadows created by density
The mist joining clouds
The winding roads have me smiling
The goldenred Oak, Birch, Walnut and Hickory
Falling like rain with the wind
Onto the old Bones of the Earth
Up the mountain I go
Switchbacks building leaf banks
Piling up in their ceremonious dance
Swirling in spirals as I pass
At the top of Hickory Nut Mountain
I look across distant leagues
Lake Ouachita from far above
Islands rising from its crystal waters
Life all around me
Through the air
In the water
On the Earth
The wind rises and falls
The exhalations of Shortleaf Pine needles
Gently battered by goldenred leaves falling all around
Ripples on the lake reply
It’s time to move on.
Back onto the roads
The curves I love so well
Having never seen them
Knowing their ways
Into a place of exploitation and greed
Antique bath houses lining the promenade
History both bloody and effulgent
Reminiscent of all of our sins
Money everywhere
Tip your servers
Who can drink the most?
Dinner plate challenge
But it’s a national park
Reserved since 1832
Home of gangsters and villains
Preserving violence in the midst of great beauty
I walk out and up the mountain
Onto the Sunset Trail
Just until the sun sets
Up and down scrambling on rocks
Vistas for leagues
The stain of the city on the land nearby
Amidst a sea of green
Scattered with goldenred
The next morning
Dawn is grey and cold
Exploration my goal
The curves are constant
The Blakely Mountain Dam
Where the Ouachita River
Tries to escape to the South
Man gripping fiercely to nature
It’s time to move on.
The sun burns the mist.
The curves are constant
Goldenred leaves pouring
Occasional glimpses of vastness
Through thin living towers
Dirt roads for miles
Some seem unused
Overgrown and thick
Some impassable
I find my way.
Not a soul for miles
Little Blakely Trail
Forest peninsula
Wind and sun nearly absent
Veins of quartz in limestone palisades
Quartz littering the trail
Untouched forest enveloping
A buck and doe relax in a ray
I am the only human
The breeze stirs
The goldenred leaves
My heart beats
My breathing measured
Miles to go
Injuries forgotten
Immersed in Our World
Crossing creeks and gullies
Rain no stranger here
Rock scarred over aeons
Moss and mineral colouring the bones
I can only go so far
I have only so much time
I want to see it all
Feel the watery wind on my face
I turn back
The way I came
So different
Light scattering
From another angle
From another hour
From another perspective
Sunset draws near
Exhaustion hits
Wonder
Amazement
I love it here
Back to sleep
Old servants quarters in town
Small and necessary
Quiet sleep of exertion
I follow the rocks home
All along the summits
Wind blowing goldenred
Onto the bones of the Earth
West, then South
Geological folds
Ancient oceans
Seas of history
Goldenred sprinkled
In a sea of green
Undulating and expanding
As far as the eye can see
I came to forget
Why we are this way
I leave feeling well
Returning to grind
Unforgettable beauty
Lands immemorial
Waters crystal clear
Often cloud my mind
“My heart burns there too.”
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