Darryl Echt – Walking In French Creek, Summer 1996
My knees ache a dull throb and I stop to marvel that they
haven’t yet buckled
My attention is diverted though and I stare in gaping awe
of your movement–you are flowing North, you are
running home
And I am still, wincing and pondering pain and fluidity
My pack is neatly, though disproportionately, stuffed and
the weight shifts
I am struggling, grumbling when I notice the smell–the
sweet, wet aroma of crushed wild strawberries beneath
my feet
I am laughing, fondling the delicate fruit and forgetting
my tired back
Many times, many afternoons, I have filled my belly here,
delighted my tongue with huckleberries,
thimbleberry, whortleberry, water
Many evenings I have dozed in your darkening canyon
walls, lulled through digestion by the rhythmic
dancing of your rapids, your course
This time I am weeping amid my folly and I am ashamed
to know through the blasting of dynamite, the scream
of helicopters and saws that I did not fight hard
enough to save you.
Darryl Echt
Sept. 1996 Earth First!