They gated the road through the Loblolly Pine and White Walnuts,
the needle-bearing Hemlocks
with Woolly adelgids resting tightly on the underbelly of the pine needles.
Underneath the coppice
badgers roll at ease
While Beavers trim the hemlocks
that cover the forgotten path.
A path taken by overgrown Ostrich fern and switchgrass
the thin heaps of tree limbs aRray
lost in time; forked off at the train tracks and
rolling James River.
Decades have passed
and with them
the stretching of etched romance
carved in the Beech tree trunks.
I longed for something I could never come back from.
Something that gave spirit in the midst of despair
and the essence of bliss at the summit of my own utopia.