“good” is not really a word

i know that good  is not really a word (as far as this writer of very specific and particular details is concerned)
but that’s exactly what it is
(as well as refreshing and grounding and ‘contentifying)
to be walking through the woods
sometimes along a path
sometimes bushwacking our way
past patches of ferns i never associate with here
and the bright green of cover crop coming up
and the sometimes rush and sometimes faster than a trickle but not a rush sounds
of water moving through

the thin thread of panic
woven through emory’s voice
when he calls out to me
because he’s stuck in the creekside quicksand
which i have to give him both hands to pull him out
thwack isn’t quite the right sound
but i don’t know what it is
for the unsuctioning of foot
from muddy edges
leapfrogging  i call it for how i cross the creek
by straddling the huge fallen tree
and scooch by scooch (sortof inchworm-like movement)
working my way from one end
to the other avoiding the cache of raccoon poop
on either side
the flooding of the floodplain:
a sheen seen from the backroad
on an after-dinner walk
as the sun finally breaks through sky after three days (or more?) of solid gray and
much rain
unnamed phenomenon:
the feeling, after days of gray and rain, of the first licks of sun on one’s face and on one’s limbs and watching it
lay itself across the land
the magnificent things it does
with all that water as it drip drops from the trees and rushes down the ditches

impossibly green i say
about the first light after all the rains
hitting every growing thing in the woods,
and every growing thing along the backroad,
and every growing thing as seen against the slate and
11:17pm tom petty on radio x kirksville
singing she’s a good girl,
she’s crazy about elvis….
now all the vampires
walking through the valley
move west through
ventura boulevard
and i don’t know why but this song
always has that nostalgic feel to it
(in this certain way where, even when it just came out, it had that nostalgic feel)


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