Blackflies swarmed about my head,
deerflies attacked my gait,
and somewhere in the tallgrass
ticks lied about in wait.
Fauna and fern crowded in,
pushing ivy about the path,
and when a bundle brushed my leg,
I feared it might bring nature’s wrath.
It was the kind of day that feels
like a sweltering city night
when the AC’s freon blows out
and sweat begins to blur your sight.
It didn’t start this way, you know,
free to roam about as I pleased.
Actually, not even now.
I suppose we’re never released.
Before the float, I used to climb
mountains, out from behind the desk,
pushing pen and people so that
my bosses could declare success.
Some seventy thousand hours
over a kaleidoscope screen,
crunching numbers in the backroom,
wondering if I might get seen.
The other night, my wife took us all out to the Lumineers concert at Fenway Park. I’d like to say that I did, but this was all her. Her idea. Her treat. Her show. This was the third Lumineers show I’ve been to — none of which, oddly enough, were actually my idea. I like the Lumineers,…
There are eighteen different Oak Hills in New Hampshire alone. Twenty, if you include White Oak Hill and Red Oak Hill. And these are just the ones I can find documented on Peakbagger.com. I’m sure if I kept looking, I would find others. I imagine the frequently used naming convention came from several towns springing…