20080705 The Sigh: Flash Fiction
First published on my MySpace blog 2008-07-05
I heard the sigh as though it were just in front, separate from me.
Its meaning escapes me.
The trail leaving the campsite was false, meandering through the waist-high brush before vanishing altogether. I pull out the compass, check the bearing and head east-by-northeast. I scramble down a 4 foot ledge and find I am on a deer trail. The smell of deer urine is strong and remnants of their antlers are scattered among the leaves. The brush became more and more dense.
I continue. I am soon plowing the path of least resistance, all the while thinking I am on course.
“There is no trail to this arch” is absolutely correct. Compass bearing is one thing. The variety of barriers is overwhelming. Cliffs, boulders, streams, drops, impenetrable brush, false leads and my own stubbornness all contribute to a zigzag departure from staying the course.
The waterfall-created arch is not far from the campsite. Not as the crow flies.
It remains out of reach on the zigzag.
I will not find that arch.
I did find an arch.
It was small, I could duck-walk under it.
It isn’t listed on any Gorge material that I have. I can not tell you its exact location. I doubt I can find it again.
I would not try.
The sigh was more pronounced.
I watch nature and wonder “why not?”
I hear hawks cry to each other.
Higher up an eagle watches all.
A rock sentinel watches all, longer.
They communicate without words, with feelings, the subtlest of changes.
When things are vocalized in nature they know it is serious.
They are already paying attention.
I soon discover that I didn’t bring enough water for this zigzag. Nor snacks.
I turn back, abandoning the arch. All those barriers to circumnavigate were again in front of me.
I check the compass.
I am tired.
And worried.
In the stream bed there is one paw print. Distorted. It is either a large cat. Or that of a bear, headed back in the direction I am leaving.
My tired feet will not lift over the dead fall on the forest floor.
I trip
I crawl. In a direction I hope takes me out of here.
It is so easy to get lost in the forest. So close. Yet too far.
I heard the sigh as though it were right in front, separate from me.
Some things are better left alone.
From inside a rock house with trickle in the Daniel Boone National Forest
by MartinLT
