Do you ever have a small favorite place you go often, where you see no one , or maybe no one pays you any mind ?
This flat
broad sweep of land has been quiet and unpopulated for so long I'm surprised at
all the different fellow visitors , just this week . Why, if I was more
personable , and less of a loner, I might even be pleasantly surprised. See, it's a dead end , dirt , bordered on all sides by farmer fields , and at the end, nestled up next to private camps, all along the river, with old sinks and an old crap tub tossed into the woods.
There are warning signs and makeshift gates, maybe some campfires made out of pikes of rock , and a few ragged old chairs , that sit there year after year, throughout the long quiet seasons.
And there is the Connecticut, of course, after having made a few sharp turns , past the arroyo where I walk , churning down below the Coolidge Bridge alongside 91. And then swinging past these stands of seed-strewn trees right here.
On a clear day at dawn or dusk, the sunlight reflects off the bridge ,and I watch the distant cars rush on by, having no clue as they zoom from New Hampshire or Vermont to Springfield or Boston or New York.
No clue at all, of
all these quiet places of beauty. , listing in one more mid winters wind.
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