Mill Creek Hike During Covid-19 by Tina Hacker (ONE GOOD MEMORY Series)

Mill Creek Hike During Covid-19
by Tina Hacker

A sycamore leaf. One leaf. But large
as a dinner plate, falls
right at my feet in early October
before the wetlands trail
turns into wallpaper patterns
of locust, oak, maple.
I stop, pick it up. This is new to me
or seems new after weeks in lockdown.

Swarms of marsh cattails line the route.
Their tall slender stakes sway
at the whims of autumn winds,
eclipsing smaller scrambles of prairie grass.
Algae spreads over a pond like a ‘50s
poodle skirt, wide swaths of green, smooth as felt
with a blue heron replacing the iconic symbol.

Walking through a tunnel, I am pressed
into a crouch when a train passes overhead.
Fun! I decide to wait for another train
then stroll until late afternoon shadows remind me
of the dark time I am traveling through.
But for a couple of hours on this lowland journey,
nothing more dangerous than a leaf.

First published in the Mockingheart Review (2021). 

PHOTO: Sycamore Leaf by Rich Herrmann,

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: This poem reflects true events. My husband helped me identify the sycamore leaf and other plants we encountered throughout our hike. I scribbled down notes from our first steps till our last steps on the trail.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Tina Hacker, a four-time Pushcart Prize nominee, was a finalist in New Letters and George F. Wedge competitions and named Editor’s Choice in two literary journals. Her work has appeared in numerous print and online publications, including The Whirlybird Anthology of Kansas City Writers, San Pedro River Review, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, The Fib Review, and I-70 Review.  Her two poetry collections, Listening to Night Whistles and Cutting It, have been joined by a new collection titled GOLEMS  (Kelsay Books).

Lost on Maroon Bells Trail by Barbara Leonhard (LANDMARKS Series)

Lost on Maroon Bells Trail
by Barbara Leonhard

I.
The Maroon Bells chime,
So long, dear. May you dance
& sway with the breeze
In our floral meadows.
Do you know the edibles?
The wind ruffles my hair as I hike out.
II.
An old man limps from around a bend.
I take his course, turning right,
Not left. The path narrows,
But well-marked steps
Pin me to a destination
Down a steep hill on my behind.
               The old guy did this?
I call for my husband, who had run ahead.
III.
A clearing opens, & prior travelers
show no sense of direction.
Their prints scatter like whitetail deer
Fleeing the hungry cougar.
I call for my husband over & over
& look for his shoe size.
IV.
He runs back to check on his mate,
But the two stragglers far behind her
had surpassed her stride.
               She can outpace those guys! WTF?
Bearing a 50-pound pack,
He sprints like a mountain goat fleeing wolves
To inform rangers.
V.
Sun splinters through spots of shade.
               Where am I? Lost!
               Gone from sight!
The creek, dear! The Bell clang.
               Dizzy, I stumble. Up? Down?
I call his name again & again.
               Some prints smell of animal.
               Large cat!?
Dear, run up the hill! The hill!
VI.
Pursued by hot breath,
I scramble up a slope,
Grabbing hold of the arms of Aspens,
To an overlook of the trail.
               Help! Help!
                         Are you Barbara?
                         Your husband is looking for you!!
I am lifted out of the abyss by wind
Resounding in a chorus of bells. 

PHOTO: The Maroon Bells in the fall, at sunrise by Anton Foltin, used by permission. Note: The Maroon Bells are two peaks in the Elk Mountains, Maroon Peak and North Maroon Peak, separated by about one-third of a mile. The mountains are about 12 miles southwest of Aspen, Colorado. Both peaks exceed 14,000 feet.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: A few years ago, in Colorado, I became lost while hiking on the wide and well-used Maroon Bells Trail after a night of camping on Crater Lake. Fatigued, I took a wrong turn and became lost for almost two hours.

PHOTO: The author,  resting in a Maroon Bells meadow after dancing and swaying in the breeze (August 1995).

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Barbara Harris Leonhard is a writer, poet, and blogger. Her work appears in Phoebe, MD: Poetry + Medicine, Well Versed 2020, Spillwords, FREE VERSE REVOLUTION, Heretics, Lovers and Madmen, Go Dog Go Café, Silver Birch Press, Amethyst Review (pending), Pillbaby.com, and Vita Brevis. She is the author of Discoveries in Academic Writing, which is based on her years of teaching English as a Second Language at the University of Missouri.

For All, poem by Gary Snyder

FOR ALL
Poem by Gary Snyder

Ah to be alive
on a mid-September morn
fording a stream
barefoot, pants rolled up,
holding boots, pack on,
sunshine, ice in the shallows,
northern rockies.

Rustle and shimmer of icy creek waters
stones turn underfoot, small and hard as toes
cold nose dripping
singing inside
creek music, heart music,
smell of sun on gravel.

I pledge allegiance

I pledge allegiance to the soil
of Turtle Island,
and to the beings who thereon dwell
one ecosystem
in diversity
under the sun
With joyful interpenetration for all.

Photo: “Moffat Lakes, Boulder, Colorado” by Tyler P. Porter, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Summer Haiku by Matsuo Bashō

SUMMER HAIKU by Matsuo Bashō (1644-1694)

Along the mountain road

somehow it tugs at my heart —

a wild violet

For All, Poem by Gary Snyder

FOR ALL

Poem by Gary Snyder

Ah to be alive
on a mid-September morn
fording a stream
barefoot, pants rolled up,
holding boots, pack on,
sunshine, ice in the shallows,
northern rockies.

Rustle and shimmer of icy creek waters
stones turn underfoot, small and hard as toes
cold nose dripping
singing inside
creek music, heart music,
smell of sun on gravel.

I pledge allegiance

I pledge allegiance to the soil
of Turtle Island,
and to the beings who thereon dwell
one ecosystem
in diversity
under the sun
With joyful interpenetration for all.

Photo: “Moffat Lakes, Boulder, Colorado” by Tyler P. Porter, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED