Appalachian Heritage

Twill (for Nancy, weaver & friend) Cat track, snail trail— We too ply the wild rose path to the pine tree and back, intending this hour for indigo blue, the warp in our thoughts leveled, conceits shed, and sticky egos dissolved. Walk at this curiously fallow time of day, past querulous cows, and dogs straining at our scent— poised and empty, smiling at even the unexpected S untwisting just ahead. There is no web that can trap us, or hook that can hold us apart: We are nubs in the emerald algae's loose weave on the pond, as much our neighbor's tabby prowling the brake as cricket shuttling through the weedy selvage of the path. Cat track, snail trail— no destination but the pine. Our only harness is the breeze. —Anne Richey 49 ...