Post by AquarianM on Nov 11, 2009 at 12:07am
The Great Adventure Of The Secret Pathway...I went exploring this morning,
Wandering in my tired light fog,
Just a walk after work with my cigar and last coffee.
I've always wondered what was off this way,
Under these grey cool November skies,
I was delighted and dreaming,
A Druid finding the sacred grove.
Crossing at Myers and all the concrete and blacktop,
Slow-pacing the back side of restaurant parking lots,
Out in the farthest corner a path into the marsh,
Pavement - old and buckled from plants growing through,
Almost overgrown from shameful disuse,
But not.
All the other trees are nearly leafless dead sticks now,
But here there's still glorious fire to behold,
Autumn's signature remnant,
Tall tawny dead stalks of thistle,
Wafting like faerie towers just over my six-foot-six head,
Marsh water among reeds,
A dead tree or two out in the middle,
Sweeping yellow-gold weeping willows crying on the far side.
I walked around and back out onto the street,
Turned at the next driveway by some sad corporate office monster,
Cold dead white concrete in tinted glass and black metal trim,
A poison cathedral on the landscape,
Monument to toil.
Past that I walked,
Turning my eyes left,
Following the green mowed grass at the edges of parking lots,
Far out in the empty corners serfs avoid,
Wanting my feet on grounded earth instead of fake-stone death.
Two old houses behind the huge hotel,
What's left of yesteryear now hotel party-houses,
Waiting to rot back into the ground for neglect.
Between the hotel and the corporate pond,
A gravel pathway under grand trees leads,
I saw a great blue heron flare to land on a dead branch,
Six feet across the wings majestic,
And the path ended at the back of the theater building,
Which I walked up and touched,
Saving its magic for later and dreams.
The heron flew off as I was walking five feet from him,
Off to the other side of the marsh as I waved.
Walking back through the miracle of Autumn and places no one ever goes,
I met a huge red-tail hawk perched on the dead tree,
Center-king of the marsh,
His foot-patrol heron wandering the edges with his strange dance.
Five miles I padded along,
And now I know the secret of abandoned ways -
In this fat world all the tires are bald,
And shoes get thrown away with plenty of tread.
AquarianM
By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/11/2009
Author's Note:
To follow in my footsteps, follow the link below, choose satellite, and move slowly West. Or get out of the car...
maps.google.com/maps?q=40%20N.%20Tower%20Rd%20Oak%20Brook%2C%20IL%2060523&oe=utf-8&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&client=firefox-a&um=1&ie=UTF-8&sa=N&hl=en&tab=wl