Rediscovery

A forest trail not far from the one in this passage.

Finding anew that old forest trail
—recognizable in the full moon’s light,
even after a near four-decade absence--
became a reunion of sorts, 
spurred on by a coonhound,
who'd again treed that "cliff ringtail." 
But this time, as I stood on that steep ravine’s ledge,
where one misstep could turn memory to epitaph,
Seth refused to heed any recall.
His deep bawl simply beckoned, "Come now."
Due east.
 
It'd taken a bit,
finding my way
to that stubborn hound.
(My wife contends Seth is much akin to his owner.)
But finally stepping on that old path,
—once lit long ago by a child's hand,
holding a two-cell flashlight
and now with many fallen trees
straddling its path--
felt like a warm balm.
Like home.

It's been a while, my once-young friend, the trail seemed to say.

It had been too long, I conceded.
For I’d seen much
since last walking here
in this holy place
beneath heavy hemlock boughs,
with each step,
crunching fallen oak leaves,
now grayed.
And somehow, still lesser for the absence.
Adam returned.
 
But parts of you—the most important parts—never left.
 
Apart from this place
Yet, forever a part of this place.
So I tread upon that old trail,
leading me near my hound, due west now.
Seth’s bawl filled the late fall air,
still high above 
with the promise of amber eyes.
Back in a bit, old friend, I promised.
And on the wind,
I’ll wait.

---