A long hike. Ah! 10 miles today. 10 miles carrying only my own weight. 10 miles of friendship and womanhood and laughter and on and on. This is what it feels like to be weightless. Hike 24 was all for me.
There were mushrooms the size of my face. And two giant puffball mushrooms that were the size of my absent children. I’ve never seen mushrooms that large.
“The sun was a golden rag nailed to a ladder.
And here the marigolds grow down to the banks.
The mayflies drowse above water.
How then the dazzling surface and its dictions
under piled clouds,
and clouds sitting there by place and sound.
One thing. This thing and sound glitters.
Indicative transitive particular battles the void.
All afternoon a green-gold silent light
on the spotted grass, sprung.” -Peter Gizzi