The Gorge Cascade beckons me. Right foot after left foot, left arm after right. I’m searching for something larger than life. I look to my left and I can already see the outline of the blue-green hills past the next town over. A reminder of how much altitude one can gain with their eyes trained downwards, putting one foot in front of the other. A falcon takes a nosedive, then spreads its wings to catch itself. I wonder how bright it must be up there in midair. Your life did not end when your body died, because I swear I see you sitting where the sky meets the railroad. It begins again within me.
Turning from the uphill red trail onto the downhill blue trail, we begin our descent from the Sleeping Giant’s chin onto its neck. We’ve already passed the two bridges that were marked on the map. The soil is still deep brown and the autumn leaves are still yellow and sparse on the ground. The forest looks the same, until I widen my eyes and it doesn’t, and the deep brown soil curves downward and the yellow leaves ahead take thirty seconds instead of five to fall to the ground and they’re falling into a gorge with a stream so thin that it blebs and pinches off in places. Gorge Cascade. Water and gravity. Blood and arteries. Pressed down by the weight of the volume above it, your blood pressure is higher in your hips than at your heart. Your heart was weak, so your ankles were engorged with pooling water. My heart is still strong, and my ankles can still take this walking even though one is sprained. The sun is setting on us now. I must find my way home without you.
(2025-02-03)
Zoe Pian 