The trailhead is guarded by two tall wildflowers. To the left is Joe Pye weed with heads of flowers so big it bends low under their weight. Its flowers are covered in bees.

The sentinel to the right is Ironweed which grows high with purple blooms making a landing pad for butterflies.

Under the bridge I know where to look for the Ghost pipes to see if they have set seed. Their bent necks have straitened. Their faces are up with dark pods in the center. The pipes are now gray and withering.

I look for the broken tree full of holes in the bend. This would be the perfect place to spot a busy woodpecker, a resting owl or a mama raccoon.

I know where to peek through the leaves to see my neighbors’ houses on the cliffs across the gorge. They are white, tan,  brown and round.

I look for the crooked tree that has twisted  limbs twirling toward the sky. It is one of the lucky ones not taken down or dead from Helene.

I know where the ferns dance in the breeze under the leaning tree. The deer like it here as well.

Sometimes I meet horses here. I always step aside to greet them. This one’s name is Scout. He is sweet and beautiful.

I know this trail. I know it well. It makes my heart sing.

FLOW