10/27/2022
we're driving to frankfort, the hackberry trees, knobby bark by the roadside, are bare now. A dead deer lies in a ditch, takes me back to the the deer i hit driving home from TN at the tail end of fall break, down in clinton county. i screamed and covered my eyes and came to a standstill along an undriven country highway.
i dreamt of honey locust, i spotted a spat along the way.
in soils lecture today i was confused, confounded and consumed by the things within me.
this morning i woke at dawn to take my car to the collision garage, for no good reason honestly since all they did was take pictures for an estimate and send me on my way. the sunlight was warming the world, elijah drove to the farm in midway, i turned south from the stripmall segment of nicholasville to get a little time among the trees at Beam Preserve. I pulled up, past the reflective pool in the farm plot, past the old graves by the gravel road.
i had thirty minutes, i was enamored at first by the fog in the channel of the kentucky river's carving. i took the more gradual side of the loop down, saving the valley view for later. thick leaf layer, lush litter underfoot. limestone set into the trailside like a weather-worn seat. I crunch along beneath the chinkapins, sugar maples, i scan the blanket of loss for clues as to who towers above.
the trail turns, i come to parallel the palisades. the fog is thick, i say valley full of fog full of fog-full to my self as i carry on.
i stop for a moment at the lookout point, humble chunks of flat limestone at the head of a cliff, view of the river choked out by trees committed to a season of dormancy.
i tighten my laces for the hike back up. i'll be back later, hoping when the leaves fall i'll get my eyes on the slow loving Kentucky. my georgia boots slip on the knobs of roots, i hop back in my deer-battered CRV. i putter back to lexington, to school, to do my silly little things in silly little buildings.
i went to soils lecture in an auditorium, i went to work in the greenhouse, i biked over to the geology building and got into a van for our lab field trip. we're split into two vans--one covered in stickers from its history: an appalachian trail sticker, so many from the gorge--the other only bearing one stating
black canyon
of the
gunnison
white font on a black background. late october, clumps of lilac flowers bob low to the ground.
a kiss among the scrub pines.
i look out the window, past an old barn clad with a red roof, past the hills, to the palisades, a river valley shrouded by trees. good to see you again, baby.
when it's light out i see my friends, roadside. but we're driving too fast an i don't know enough to call out their names.
i am on a hillside, exposed rock leading up to this ridge, i recognize patches of flakey bark before me, i look up--oh sycamore.
hall's. flow in june
(i better get back to the palisades)
