Devonne Brown

There were  hundreds of acres to explore and I suppose we stepped through all of them. We walked through the woods for miles, following each other. The path was the one we created, or sometimes the deer or both. They are creatures of habits, the same as we. We had no place in mind to be or go. The journey was the destination. 

Trees twisted into sculptures of shelters, we’d stop and play house for a bit. Tidy one room to rest in its shade before deciding the next way to take. We knew it would make all the difference in our travel that day. One way leads to another. 

A creek came into view, with stones to skip and water to wade. Logs to walk  across like balance beams covered in the greenest of mosses, the adventure was grand indeed. I lost at rock skipping, but we lingered long. Water’s allure hypnotizes until she’s shown you all her sparkling tricks and you’ve drunk your fill. 

Our desire led us up the mountain through the woods, the trees were close and branches slapped backwards as we passed. Ferns bowed at our feet, and a clearing opened at the last evergreen. We’d reached the top of the mountain. 

Giant boulders sunned themselves surrounded by pines and oaks, worn smooth as if by God’s sandpaper. Comfortable and warm, waiting for us to rest. The end of the path through the woods, the path we’d forged with the help of the deer. 

Now to get back down.