Returning to The Gorge, July 27, 2022

It was the middle of the week. A heat wave had blistered the region where I live so much so that I did not want to go outside. Miraculously, the heat broke with a rainstorm. And pleasant days ensued. Wednesday was one of them.

I had made plans to pick up a piece of art made on canvas whose edges were finished by a seamstress who lives in the town down the street from the house where I used to live.  Because the drive is forty minutes away and because I usually exercise on Wednesday, I thought to take a hike by the Westfield River which I had not done in nearly two years.

Hardly any cars were parked in the lot in this state-preserved area. That I appreciated. My history with this hiking/walking area is long. It has been a place of solace for well over a decade. Seems as though it should have been for a longer period of time. I associate it with the person for which this blog was created so we both could publish photographs. Now that he is long gone, this blog has become a platform for my photographs of this place as I tread on the trail. Wearing my gorgeous, comfortable gray and orange hiking boots. And my black full-of-pockets trail pants. And compression top.

This Wednesday, I took my good camera. 

The camera on the phone isn't good enough sometimes.

Poetry is in the imagery. All twelve lines of it.

Except for these lines in words:

Embarking on my three-mile walk

I could not hear the rushing of the river 

Below down the steep embankment.

The trail had been leveled off with packed sand

Hiding the hundreds of rocks exposed by erosion.

The walking was less one of avoiding the rocks 

And more of being able to look around without tripping.

The water was so low

An island of wildflowers and grasses 

Raised itself in the middle of the river.

At the halfway point

I sat on the water's edge

For a while 

Across from the island

Underneath drooping branches 

Of a birch tree.

A warm breeze surprisingly blew

Across the river

And the brilliant green leaves 

Attached to the low-hung branches

Gently kissed the lens of my camera.

Blessed by the wonder

I witnessed and sensed

I lifted myself up 

On to my feet 

And began climbing 

To the trail

On the way

To

The short trek

Home.

Copyright 2022 Lyn Horton