By Any Estimation

In the draw of mid-autumn, I'm always pulled to the edge of darkness. Every day, no fail and no surprise, I follow my feet into twilight. The late woods has no shadows, just a growing gloom from curtains of clouds, and some sunset on a far horizon. It's the dangling stick that draws me, a carrot come-and-get-it, the hunger of adventure anywhere I haven't been. There's an old rock dam about halfway down this road, long gone in the middle, maybe the site of an some old sawmill. I can almost hear the ghostly rattle and buzzing, the lumber led off and crashing, the rough hand, red neck men shouting. I'm nothing like them, tied to work that just might kill them, all dead now by any estimation. I just want to wander, down the murky depths of Ben Ritcey, steady in search of the past.

 

November 29, 2020

Stanley Section, Nova Scotia

 

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