The Trail Builders

Slope, cross slope, outslope 
Corridor, tread, and consistency 
Switchbacks
more switchbacks 
Back cuts for bench cuts: full and half
Contours and compaction 
Drainage without erosion 
Grade 
and always 
Sustainability

The knowledge, language, and skill
of the trail builders

With all I know, though
of all they share
I’m still left wondering how

They brought the Sun 
Ascending in the east
Descending in the west
Setting aflame the awe within me

From where did they obtain
The morning dew
that dampens my cuffs 
as I walk along

How did they arrange for 
The song of the Wood Thrush and
The Wren
Of the Cardinal and the Dove

By whose hand was the Heron
Placed in a posture of 
Waiting and watching
Statue-still in the trail-side pond

Finally, with what magic did they create
The Silence 
and the Peace 
that descends upon my heart

As I move
Step by step
Along the path
They created


I’ve always loved hiking, but find just being outside even more satisfying than logging the miles. Working with folks who build trails on a regular basis, I’ve enjoyed learning their process; a good trail really is so much more than just a path in the woods! With this poem, I wanted to introduce some of the language and concepts of trail building. If you see a word you don’t recognize, look it up and enjoy exploring something new.

Then, get outside and go take a hike!

Today is Poetry Friday. When you get back from your walk, take a look at the collection over at Margaret Simon’s Reflections on the Teche.

Waiting

Starting a new poem
I sometimes think of Billy Collins’ quip
There’s a lot of staring involved

He knows a thing or two about poetry
So who am I to argue?

I stare a lot
just waiting to get things started

Today, I want to write about nature
how elements of it mirror my own life
my own behaviors

Maybe I’ll write about the herons 
standing and waiting
until the next morsel comes along

Patience
    Standing and waiting

Maybe a slow stalk to try to gain advantage
     Eyes unblinking

Like both the heron and the poet
I’ll sit and stare

Eventually, the words will come along


It’s Poetry Friday! Visit this week’s roundup at Molly’s Nix the Comfort Zone

Fazed

I watched the birds 
that cold January morning and thought 
Unfazed

At my feeder, flying in and out

In the trees, a chattering flock

On the frost-covered grass of my lawn
tossing ice crystals and leaves here and there
searching for insect morsels

Unfazed by the temperatures 
that would leave me lifeless within the hour 
were I unprepared

Unfazed, they seem, but 
these thoughts must run 
constantly through their minds:

Stay out of the wind when possible 
and above all, stay dry

Stay dry

What do I do? 
What don’t I do
instinctively or otherwise
that keeps me alive
Protected from life’s storms?

I am fazed

It’s 2026
Believe me, I’m fazed

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