This is my entry for LJ Idol. The topic this week is "The Path is Made by Walking."
'The Path is Made by Walking'
Ahead, because she must always
lead, my sister's bitty
chihuahua forged through
Indiangrass and Little Bluestem,
nosing ahead and making muddy tracks.
My sister, holding the thin leash, savored
the chance to use her naturalist skills.
She pointed out American hogpeanut,
with its edible tubers. (I found
a Stinging Nettle, by accident.)
We pushed through underbrush, ankles
lashed by nettles on the Eastwood Meadows
trail. Visions of languid grasses,
spotted with vibrant flora,
evaporated the moment we ventured
from the overgrown access road onto
the weed-choked trail.
Our kids, curious at first, soon soured
on the adventure. Bushwacking
did not appeal to them. They wanted
open spaces, a sky abuzz with bees
and butterflies. Wild bouquets
of Cornflowers and Oxeye Daisies.
What they'd been promised. Not
this dense brush, with its narrow
vestige of footpath. With a measure
of relief, we turned around. We fought back
to the car, exchanged the prickly grass
for fantasies of wooded glades
we would seek again tomorrow.

I took this photo of white fungus on a mossy log in front of dense green trees in the Allegany State Park where the hike in this poem took place.
'The Path is Made by Walking'
Ahead, because she must always
lead, my sister's bitty
chihuahua forged through
Indiangrass and Little Bluestem,
nosing ahead and making muddy tracks.
My sister, holding the thin leash, savored
the chance to use her naturalist skills.
She pointed out American hogpeanut,
with its edible tubers. (I found
a Stinging Nettle, by accident.)
We pushed through underbrush, ankles
lashed by nettles on the Eastwood Meadows
trail. Visions of languid grasses,
spotted with vibrant flora,
evaporated the moment we ventured
from the overgrown access road onto
the weed-choked trail.
Our kids, curious at first, soon soured
on the adventure. Bushwacking
did not appeal to them. They wanted
open spaces, a sky abuzz with bees
and butterflies. Wild bouquets
of Cornflowers and Oxeye Daisies.
What they'd been promised. Not
this dense brush, with its narrow
vestige of footpath. With a measure
of relief, we turned around. We fought back
to the car, exchanged the prickly grass
for fantasies of wooded glades
we would seek again tomorrow.

I took this photo of white fungus on a mossy log in front of dense green trees in the Allegany State Park where the hike in this poem took place.
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Date: 2024-08-16 05:41 pm (UTC)From:no subject
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Date: 2024-08-16 09:43 pm (UTC)From:on the adventure." Yeppers, been there, lived that! LOL
One of the things I really enjoy about your poetry is that it tells an unambiguous story. Sure, poetry with mysterious/multiple meanings can also be fun, but me, I'm a sucker for a well told story!
Great entry.
Dan
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Date: 2024-08-16 09:57 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2024-08-17 05:00 am (UTC)From:You captured an image here very well in words.
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Date: 2024-08-17 11:13 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2024-08-17 05:40 pm (UTC)From:Awesome photo!
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Date: 2024-08-18 02:18 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2024-08-17 08:27 pm (UTC)From:- Erulisse (one L)
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Date: 2024-08-18 12:15 pm (UTC)From:Thats actually the best possible intro. Stylistically this is almost a nature walk, I didn't know what I would find but enjoyed the journey.
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Date: 2024-08-18 02:09 pm (UTC)From:no subject
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Date: 2024-08-19 11:19 pm (UTC)From:Unfortunately, I think that is USUALLY the way they are found. :(
I can understand why that was not particularly fun for the kids. They have less of a sense of "This path leads somewhere, probably for a reason" (the way a adult might have), and so there's only the experience of the process. And if the process itself isn't fun for them...
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Date: 2024-08-21 01:36 pm (UTC)From: