We are free to find our own way
Over rocks – through the trees –
Where there are no trails. The ridge and the forest
Present themselves to our eyes and feet
Which decide for themselves,
In their old learned wisdom of doing
Where the wild will take us. We have
Been here before. It’s more intimate somehow
Than walking the paths that lay out some route
That you stick to.

All paths are possible, many will work.
Being blocked is its own kind of pleasure,
Getting through is a joy, the side trips
And detours show downed logs and flowers,
The deer paths straight up, the squirrel tracks
Across, the outcroppings lead us on over.

Resting on treetrunks,
Stepping out on the bedrock, angling and eyeing
Both making choices – now parting our ways –
And later to rejoin; I’m right, you’re right,
We come out together. Mattake, “Pine Mushroom,”
Heaves at the base of a stump. The dense matted floor
Of Red Fir needles and twigs. This is wild!

We laugh, wild for sure,
Because no place is more than another,
All places total,
And our ankles, knees, shoulders and
Haunches know right where they are.

Recall how the Dao De Jing
Puts it: the trail is not the way.
No path will get you there, we are off the trail,
You and I, and we chose it!

Our trips out of doors
Through the years have been practice
For this ramble together,
Deep in the mountains
Side by side,
Over rocks, through the trees.