On The Write Path

Solvorn

Solvorn

Smooth asphalt, stones own the middle. I walk past white spirea and rhubarb in bloom, though the faint smell of the last apple blossoms.

Snow glints off the tops of mountain. It's been a cold Spring. A distant fall of water greets the ears.

I meet a young woman climbing. Easier to allow the breeze show the way down, descend into the aroma of lilacs in full bloom.

Sun comes out. Blue sky in the west. Upturned canoes, yellow and scarlet.

Zig under a flag waving, zag again to the left. Double pink lilacs beg me to inhale by the upscale hotel.

Food! The small store is open! Every day until 9. I'm in luck.

I go down to the harbor. A man skips a stone. Ten jumps over clear water. Green weeds hug the shore.

I go up again by another path through tree roses (a.k.a. apples), the least traveled path. Weeds growing over stones, ending in a cul-de-sac.

I retrace my steps. Shadows now guard the way. Sun still high in the south-west.

I go through a tunnel of white picket fences, hedges and wasps.

Once again the curves. Nothing is straight in an old settlement.

A cloud sneaks in between me and the sun. I find the parking lot. And a secret way between white blooms guiding me up to Eplet's Bed and Apple.

         a yellow hose
         snakes across strewn petals.

© Kåre Enga 2015.06.14. Solvorn, Norway.

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