Foresters blazed a wide trail
up the steep grade to Angel’s Rest.
Along the swath two bodies wide,
a narrow path intersects the broad way,
a thread that was the natives’ track
before the roads of industry.
The trail barely visible
to the place of power they knew,
of vision quest and high plateau,
snow crested peaks in each direction
from high desert to the river and sea.
They lined their path with stones,
their mark a long angular sinew,
delicately connecting place to place
without the woodsmen’s gash.
Those days are gone but the track remains,
a feint and subtle path of stones
placed so long ago with reverence.
Hey Don this verse seems more tangible than the others-it feels as if you actually visited this place. I don’t want to know it would take away from the vision of the path…How thrilling to stumble on to something or somewhere few recent eyes had experienced as most strolled right by never knowing how close they came to discovery .