I walk my path every day, sometimes twice

I know my path, every log, pebble and turn,

every fallen tree, woodpecker pile,

every berry tree and stream,

every stone wall,

and old foundation.

The thumping of the Grouse,

they darting of turkeys,

the scat of deer, coyote, raccoons,

the places where the dogs do their thing,

where they like to gather and sniff.

The path is my witness, my guide,

my testament.

It gave me my first photos

of dead leaves,

and old trees.

I have walked out of confusion and

loneliness on the path,

and beyond terror,

and left so much anger and hurt behind,

scattered on my path,

like leaves.