takes about fifteen minutes of brisk walking the trail for
me to drop flat thoughts borne from city streets, and open to the
vertiginous mind. Uncertainty
that feeds on the bones of animal spirits are the kind of speculations
that with mossy flora float into
I try a different trail, and lose direction.
Getting lost is necessary. To wander is to wonder, the path is
then a circle.
Further on, a man's
kneeling before a flower, magenta-stained,
growing by the side of the road.
that?" I ask.
"Trillium," he says. "It'll
be gone soon."