by Paul Ilechko
There are two ways to traverse the landscape,
two ways to travel the length of the gorge. The high
trail is the way of splendor, taking you up and over
the great fissure, crossing via the old railway bridge
that soars above the terrain, providing an endless
parade of dazzling perspectives. But the low trail, that
is something else completely. The low trail takes you
down into the pulsing heart of nature, takes you along
the winding riverbank, immersed in all the landscape
has to offer. Surrounded by the silver of birch bark,
the reds and yellows of autumn leaves, you saturate
yourself in all that is wild, in the pure silence of this
mythic ecosystem. And there, in the river, you come
upon a fisherman, standing stock still like a hunting
bird, one leg bent, the fulcrum that balances his
effortless stance as he casts, and casts again, the
brilliant color of his hand-tied lure that flashes briefly
before sinking. His dog beside him, quietly alert.
Paul Ilechko was born in England but has lived much of his life in the USA. He currently lives in Lambertville, NJ with his girlfriend and a cat. Paul has had poetry published recently by Dash Literary Journal, Gravel Magazine, Gloom Cupboard, MockingHeart Review and Corvus Review, among others.
