Bill Kerr Trail
A faded sign, pegged to a Monterey pine,
hangs askew at the entrance to a narrow path.
Down the initial slope forest soon closes in.
Bracken fern flourishes among thimbleberry and thistle.
Fallen logs surrender their crumbling bodies
to foster new undergrowth.
Layers of brown pine needles muffle footsteps.
You are not sure what’s around the next curve.
Beyond massive oak at the intersection
of a wider trail you detour
toward muffled roar of the sea,
emerge onto an open meadow.
Bursts of yellow dandelions wink at you
from lush lime green tracts.
Buttercups edge the hem of a shortcut.
Clouds of minute gnats circulate.
You pass a rustic bench with brass plate
that names this place “Owl’s Roost.”
Wildlife keeps you company—
royal orange butterfly, striped woodpecker.
Creeping black stink bug, reminder of childhood,
one white bindweed blossom, fescue,
wall barley, gilia, milkmaids, and blue-eyed grass
all lead you back into the forest to solitude.
You have come seeking resonant realms,
materialize within rambling delirium
back at the crooked sign.
A faded sign, pegged to a Monterey pine,
hangs askew at the entrance to a narrow path.
Down the initial slope forest soon closes in.
Bracken fern flourishes among thimbleberry and thistle.
Fallen logs surrender their crumbling bodies
to foster new undergrowth.
Layers of brown pine needles muffle footsteps.
You are not sure what’s around the next curve.
Beyond massive oak at the intersection
of a wider trail you detour
toward muffled roar of the sea,
emerge onto an open meadow.
Bursts of yellow dandelions wink at you
from lush lime green tracts.
Buttercups edge the hem of a shortcut.
Clouds of minute gnats circulate.
You pass a rustic bench with brass plate
that names this place “Owl’s Roost.”
Wildlife keeps you company—
royal orange butterfly, striped woodpecker.
Creeping black stink bug, reminder of childhood,
one white bindweed blossom, fescue,
wall barley, gilia, milkmaids, and blue-eyed grass
all lead you back into the forest to solitude.
You have come seeking resonant realms,
materialize within rambling delirium
back at the crooked sign.
Laura Bayless is the author of four collections of poetry. Her most recent is Chairs in the River published by FutureCycle Press. Her poems have appeared in local and national publications, including Porter Gulch Review and The Homestead Review, as well as the recent Second Wind anthology. She co-edited an award-winning complication of stories and poems about the Carmel River - Passion for Place. She is also an Associate Editor of the Monterey Poetry Review. Previous to the past pandemic year she attended the Art of the Wild conference in Squaw Valley, California and was an occasional host at the poetry readings at Old Capitol Books in Monterey. In addition to writing poetry, Laura explores creativity through collage and photography.
