PATH AND PATH AND PATH (OR AMIDST FERAL FLOWERS GRANDLY GAZING UPON A SUBLIME SANCTUARY)

If you go along the initial pathway to the third pathway that veers off to the left you can walk along the top of the valley and look down about three stories and get lots of stories as the stony and dirt and pebble and log and tree and bird strewn valley has plenty in the way of mystery and chapters and poems. There is Chaga mushroom that grows there and some people have tried to harvest it but many pieces are too high up in the Birches and Silver Birches. The thing is though, that as one is inclined to keep following this path, there is another way and ways. After about fifteen minutes, if you look closely, you can go left again and find yourself happily and willfully lost in a series of smaller and grassy and intricate paths. And though, a couple times perhaps during the summer months and even spring or autumnal weeks, these are mowed by a small tractor, for the most part they are not travelled upon (why, my American editor once kept asking me over and over again, do you insist on using two ‘l’s’ when writing ‘travelled? It is because this is the British, and Canada being a grammatical part of said Monarchy, well, that is the way it is spelt my friend!). In any event, these paths…they go down, and up, and ‘round. They zigzag and then have straight aways and then turn some more. Sometimes you see strange blue berries or wild raspberries just when you thought it was green upon green upon green. Or, you can all of a sudden have at your feet the hair of some animal that was shed or lost in a night skirmish or outright fight. Who knows what happens there at the nights, the long summer and winter nights, the rainy spring nights of mush and grey, the fall nights, many hours long, when the green and red and yellow leaves upon the ground are lit up by moonlight and perhaps every shape seems like a snake, a creature unknown, or a vision from a dream? These paths, - they are somehow buoyant like water because their vibration, having not seen hardly any human beings, pollution, so forth, - is high. The new age set would identify it one way, thus, and like it. Regular folks, old or new, past or future, from a trucker to an accountant, would also perhaps notice its purity, its goodness, it’s certain early trueness devoid of luridness and acrimony and full of light, ease, and right rhythm. These pathways are real and physical, but are also pathways to creativity and inspiration. Yes, if you go along the initial pathway and turn left at the third and go go go go go along the valley ridge/summit and then head left again, - you might find yourself in a maze of feral flowers, grandly gazing upon a sublime sanctuary.

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