I know the path

~ a poem ~

“Lichen Study”, 2023, Kelly Pittman

// I know the path // Kelly B Pittman

I know the path I walk through the woods well

I know the sides of the trees where the lichen is happiest

I know where to find the fishing line hanging over a limb in the second cove

I know to take the route over the rocks, instead of through the trail, after a rain so the mud won’t suck up my boots

I know where the tree stands, chewed to a point by the reservoir’s resident beaver. I don’t know how it’s still standing

I know I always look up at the same spot, every time, because I once spotted a bald eagle there and stood in awe as I was able to get very close to him

I know I’ve only seen him once

I know three tiny alder cones unknowingly came home with me one day after hitching a ride in the cuff of my pants. I know I now find the alder trees along the water’s edge charming and irresistible to photograph

I know the seasons when the mushrooms appear overnight, the webs stretched across the trail are more prevalent, and when I can find the best view through the dry, barren branches to watch the most glorious sunsets over the water

I know not to cross the log when it has rained within the past two days

I know where two trees embrace each other in a gnarly twist. I know it reminds me of love every time I see them

I know when walking the trail as dusk approaches, I must be very careful to not let the black night creep up on me because I know it happens faster than I always think it will. I know I have run out of time too many times and have to walk with my phone’s flashlight to see the path

I know the trail I know well gets very disorienting at night. And becomes unfamiliar. And then, I don’t know it at all.