Two weeks ago on a fine spring morning I found myself hiking with tender fern leaf at my heels and a richly yellow green canopy overhead in Snoqualmie’s Iron Horse State Park. The hike was the third Hike and Write organized by the Black Dog Arts Coalition, Anthea Karanasos, who organized this particular event told us that the original hike was the brainchild of former WA State Poet Laureate Elizabeth Austen.
The plan was for me to lead the expedition through a series of writing exercises as we paused for hiking breaks. In preparing for this ambulant lesson I thought of trees, all the things they grant us every day, their regal postures, the superb tonalities of their foliage and above all the ways in which they express silence. I titled the walk: Writing Stillness. I thought the forest’s abundant vendor and tree varieties could teach us something on this topic. With regards to form, I thought haiku would be ideal because its brevity lends itself to quick imagistic note taking. I figured by day’s end we would all end up with a few haiku that we could either string together to weave into a larger poem or leave on their own as morsel sized testimonies of our morning together.
Thinking deeper on haiku as the morning’s choice led me to Basho and his use of the Haibun to record his travels through Japan. I amended my plan so that our morning’s writing would also include writing a haibun.
At the end of the hike we sat on a shady spot at the trail’s head and shared our poems. It was lovely to hear the haikus and to hear in the haibun impressions of our hike, which included taking the wrong turn at the outset, sharing the trail with mountain bikers, discovering giant slugs and coming across a country mouse so absorbed on gorging himself on dandelion seeds that it failed to notice us until one of us almost stepped on it. Collected, the haibun worked as a prism, offering different lenses through which to re-experience our shared time.
Thank you again Anthea for organizing a lovely morning for us all.
New day on the way up, no signs, few people, groves of fragrant fir and cedar. Mountain bluebirds, thrush, and warblers sang to the shrouded sun. Our small group rambled, lost our way. Happy calamity. All around, tender ferns sprang up, blackberry’s spanking-new thorns armored thick purple vines, and the wind crooned a tender liturgy through the treetops. Wild strawberrys’ small white buds still closed tight waited underfoot in the hush and crunch of gravel for pine sweet air to warm them. In a small clearing lush with plantain and wild greens, we came upon a soft brown mouse shielding a heap of dandelion seeds. Utterly vulnerable, the mouse watched us gather round. Small black eyes burned. Fierce in stillness: “I am not leaving.”
Hiking through cedars,
a wrong turn and revelation.
Brave mouse guarding seeds.
Warm welcoming song of the birds blind the abruptness of artificial signage “KEEP OUT” and “NO TRESPASSING.” The sound of trees slushing in the wind remind me, they too, are part of the symphony. With each careful step, the ripping sounds of gravel and the wisps of the green grass become a distinct duality. Air as crisp as an apple, I can almost bite it. Not similar to any hike I’ve ever had, but my head-space enjoyswandering through the poetic forest for the first time.
Sticks, stones, and leaves, the
sweat of the forest I breathe
and some stinky bobs”
Traffic, winding road, crowded parking, dismay. Organize calm, find folk, Nature slowly envelops. How many colors of green can the eye discern? A riot of silence. They’re all here, a different world, so available with some effort. Cloud cover cools, sunlight and exertion warm as do conversation and camaraderie.