Post horse-kick to the knee, post-election, I still take to the trail on foot. An hour a day in the woods, two miles tops,
The trails slick and soggy after three months’ snow and rain. Water fills the woods, floors all the low places with slow-flowing brown and
My fear is a flight pattern. It circles and rides the updrafts. I want these stars, all they swallow along the valley: the firs,
