Off the Path

The path of

packed

brown dirt

and gray,

uneven gravel

crunches

beneath my tattered

white shoes.

Enormous limbs

reach

overhead,

blanking

out the sky

and shrouding

the earth

in a

pale,

false twilight.

Cicadas

chatter away

mindlessly,

confused about the

strange creature,

stumbling

through their home.

I can smell

the water nearby,

ugly

and musty.

I wander

off the path,

break into the tangled

bramble

of branches.

The rough twigs snap

at my face

and body,

leaving vivid red welts

with their touch.

The cushion

of the

forest

is inviting

with the scent

of rotting vegetation

and rich earth.

Sienna leaves mingle

with lush

green ferns;

one crunchy,

muted,

and dry,

the other soggy

and vibrant

with color.

They adhere

to my feet,

my legs,

as I wander

through.

Small fawn-colored

squirrels

scramble about,

preparing for winter.

It is strangely quiet;

the native birds

flown early south

in muggy air.

A rustle rises

out of the foliage

to my right.

I turn

and gaze into the

dense

mass of trees;

A milky, charcoal eye

peers at me

knowingly.

I stand still,

barely breathing in

the decaying odors

around me.

The fawn decides

I am not

 that interesting

and skips away

with a graceful stride.

I pass, crackling,

through the tree line

to the

edge of the lake.

The water shimmers

green with algae;

Lily pads float

lazily

against the eroded

shoreline.

I sit upon the misshapen

rocks

along the manmade

pond

and drag

my hand

through the water.

It is warm

and slimy

against my skin.

I think about the roads

criss-crossing

beneath the water,

history flooded

by an accident

of man.

A whiff of fishy

breeze

makes me crinkle

my nose

Across the water,

boats sit,

apprehensively,

by their piers.

They thump hollowly

against the weathered

wood.

The huge

orange plate

of the

sun makes its

descent

into the earth;

I rise

and breath deeply,

inhaling the quiet scents

of life.

I turn

and pass,

crackling,