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  • Elaine Fletcher Chapman

Sandy Bottom Path


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I hit the ground hard. I saw black, not stars. A black that ruled out sun. It took several minutes to stand again, collect the dog and continue on for another mile or so. Around my neck, a pendant of a labyrinth, written on the back: Solvitur Ambulando. All problems are solved by walking. I believe this. I walked around for three weeks with a cracked shoulder. Now in a soft cast, walking made more difficult. A few days ago turning to Thoreau, perhaps for comfort: He and I yearn  “for one of those old, meandering, dry, uninhabited roads, which lead away from towns which leads us away from temptation, which conduct to the outside of earth, over it’s uppermost crust; where you forget in what country you are traveling…along which you may travel…like a pilgrim…here my spirit is free.” I hit the ground again, remembering the moment of impact…

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