I am at a crossroads in my life, long story, maybe for another time. This place and time is a reprieve for me, a retreat not of my choosing. I finally realized that hiking in the woods and mountains is not only a stress-reliever, it is a restoration of my soul. I am so fortunate to be able to be here, near the mountains, near the rivers, near the Appalachian Trail along which I lived for almost four months twenty-nine years ago. As I retrace some of my steps, I ponder how life is different, I am different, even the Trail is different.
One of my "original" analogies is that life is like a room with layers of wallpaper. Experiences and years are laid over what went before, and we can't or don't usually peel back the layers to see what is underneath.
Having so many memories stirring makes me sympathetic to the stereotypical "old-timers" whose main delight is in rehearsing the past. There's a saying "You can't plow a straight furrow looking behind you" but what if the past is better than the present, and the future is so obscure we can not even imagine how it will play out?
This pondering would normally lead into sharing another poem, something about no blemish on tomorrow waiting unseen beyond the corner.(and trusting).. but most of my poetry turns around and points its finger right at me. That might explain why I'm not in the mood right now.
Just some mental meandering which I will probably delete next time I'm back here...
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