Like ancient warriors
set adrift,
we haunt
these trails
circling aimlessly,
or accompanied
by some four-footed friend
who seems to think
guarding these woods
Is our job.

when we meet
to exchange greetings
with strangers
or fond fare well’s
to old companions,
we talk about
the sun
or, more llkely,
here, at least,
the rain.

We cling
to these trails
as if
reluctant to leave
this ground,
as if
trying to build
new strength
for some
Greater Voyage
lying ahead.

2 thoughts on “Adrift”

  1. As a long-time hiker in the Sierra and walker in the Berkeley hills, I appreciate this poem. It makes me think of my husband who is even more ‘religious’ than me in his devotion to ‘the trails.’ He is actually my psychopomp in this area. Thanks for the evocative poem.

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