Path Three -Walking

There is an intimacy
in walking together
nearly lost in this modern age.
The slow swing of one
step after another
the thud of boot on rock
the rush of the water companion
the swish of canvas
packs and pants up the path.

We walk up and talk of the city
until the quiet crunch of pine needles
the hush of rubbing branches
the distant call of camp robber, grey jay
begins to calm, to soothe, to remind.

We walk down under thunder
patted by rain
talk now about choices
life directions
unintended and unexpected.
We stop to watch the elk
separated from our sight
by the line of lodgepole pine.

We walk. We
think. We walk again.

Your long legs
at ease on the path,
we pass the horses
then the droppings of horses
and prints of horses.
We do not pass the memory of horses.