Indian Trail
This trail used to go deep
into the woods
where trees grew twenty stories tall
and wept at night
when the wind blew just right.
Exactly half-way in
a circular fire pit made of round stones
and built by natives
brought order and clarity
inside this forgotten place.
Whenever I lose sight
or long to reminisce
I close my eyes and dream
of the Indian Trail
I miss so much.
december two thousand eleven
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 
every line is perfect..
thank you so much for reading and commenting. it is a real place i know about in davenport, iowa, usa
be sure to write another poem after you visit it again, the feels then would be in full blush. 😉
The phrase that caught me was, how the trees “wept at night” – what a unique capture of trees at night. This is layered deep, I reckon. Lovely and thanks, Eric
thank you for the comments, Eric.
Lovely. The Indian Trail…. even love that word ‘trail’, seems to meander all by itself.
Thank you, Noeleen. I can still visualize this very place last visited over 30 years ago.