The well-traveled trail was covered in a sheet of ice
and we were supposed to walk there, while
the surrounding forest floor was soft in rotting pine needles,
an occasional green shoot reaching out towards the sun.
I walked well off to the side, away from the ice, now bordered
with mud, the well intentioned result of hikers trying to stay
on the trail, a blemish of erosion and ugliness.
I smell the aroma of crushed pine needles rise to my nostrils,
the earth springs back the moment my foot lifts from the
soil, I leave no trace, I break all the rules.
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