Corene Michelle McKay

 

his is an old path. It leads down
through a crack in the heat; down

beneath the summer.

| know | am supposed to be here,
although-4he vines spell passwords |
do not know.

| am fighting against morning glory
twisted around cords of blackberry
twisted around anchoring salmonberry
the spaces filled of glossy salal and
fern spikes and the ground beneath is
damp and deep, pulling the remnants
of the steps into itself piece by rotting
piece; and the air is close and is
filtered green drinkable light ... heavy
with whirring and held together by the
spider silk | tear, and the fracturing air
spills down beneath my repellent
soaked shirt, holding me firmer than do
the thorns reaching into my blood.

When you tread the ground in a
coniferous forest you can hear the
hollowness at its centre.

| am sinking down into that place.
And | am not afraid.

Then | am through and into dim,
buoyant, vertical space.

The underbrush shudders and two
dogs spill out. One a yellow football-
player of a Labrador, and the other my
own dog, a slimmer, tanner version of
her with tracings of his Shepherd
mother. Their energy is so concen-
trated it almost hums; it hurls them
over banks and crashes them through
the bush.

| am walking further down. The trail
switchbacks, working its way down the
incline. | can hear the river faintly.

This is my backyard. This is forest

x6 Creative

from here across the UBC Research
Forest to Pitt Lake on one side and
Golden Ears Provincial Park on the
other, then over the mountains, across
a rift passable only by helicopter, then
across to the other side of Garibaldi
Park. This is too much space for me to
comprehend.

| turn a corner. Something black is
crouched in the bushes; my first,
unbidden, thought is “wolf,” but then |
recognize the German Shepherd from
next door. The dogs spin about each
other, growling, and then they are off. |
call mine back. He comes, but he
doesn’t take his eyes away from the
direction the other dogs have gone. |

 

kneel down and talk to him, feeling a
bit deserted. He turns his head
cursorily in my direction, but won’t
meet my eyes. | let him go and he’s
gone.

| can see the river now, as bits of white
between the trees. Grasping tree roots
and branches, | climb down the

remaining bank, my feet landing on
solid, uneven rock.

Up above to my left the river hurtles
down a narrow channel then explodes
over a cliff, filling a deep, rounded
cavern with wet wind. The water in
there is deep and black. | gaze at the
waterfall for awhile, at constantly
changing water constantly making the
same shape.

| am standing downstream from the
cavern. Here, the water has more
space, and it is both quieter and
greener. It widens to a thirty or forty
foot across pool; the water over my
head at its deepest point. Across from
me,22 the only sunlight to get down
this deep glows through
the moss draped trees on
the bank and strikes a
gravel bar, extending a
long, green finger into the
water.

Two brown and white
ducks rise from the pool
and flap downstream. |
Their wings are very loud,
and the birds seem too
big for this place. The
dogs watch them with
puzzled expressions on
their faces.

Then the Labrador
plunges into the water, as
she did the first time, as she does
every time, with a look of completion
on her face. She paddles about,
blissful and coughing. My dog follows
more carefully. He learned to swim by
watching her. Before, he used to walk
into the gradually deepening water and
get confused when his head went
under and he couldn't breathe. | tried