When I was about nineteen and living in Cologne, after repeated ferocious tonsillitis my tonsils were finally removed. A hike in the Moselle Valley had been planned by some male friends of mine and they insisted I come along, post-operative or not.
It was late autumn, frosty and cold. The ancient hotel we were staying in had opened just for us; one of the lads knew the owner. The heating wasn’t working, the bedclothes were freezing, and my breath hung in the air, probably even after I’d fallen asleep.
But the scenery was worth it. We scrumped apples in seemingly forgotten orchards, crossed streams via steppingstones, got lost in a misty forest, ate crusty rolls (baked by the hotelier) with local cheese, and drank Moselle wine. I was the only girl and struggled to keep up with the rest of the group, but they politely waited for me to catch up, pointing out everything they thought might interest me, and constantly asking if my throat was sore. I hadn’t noticed.
hiking through the past
frozen in a forest stream
a tossed apple core
Kim M. Russell, 31st September 2020
My response to dVerse Poets Pub Haibun Monday: Take a Hike!
This Monday, Frank invites us to take a hike. He says that he and his family are avid hikers. He has also found poems to give us hiking inspiration. Whether we enjoy hiking or not, or if the word reminds us of tax hikes or hikes in some kind of rate or cost, we are writing haibun in which we use the word ‘hike’, alluding to whatever context we find most meaningful.