A Billy Goat Day

One of the loveliest aspects of joining my yoga studio this year is getting to know my teachers, and all of the perks in the forms of workshops, the community of good people and field trips. Today was another reminder of why I’m so glad to have committed to the studio, which has turned out to be more of a commitment to doing good things for myself and letting the good things in.

This very crisp morning set off early today for the Billy Goat Trail in Potomac Maryland, aptly named after hiking it. It’s full of rocks, some really steep climbs and one nearly vertical descent which had me clutching the rocks so hard I have scraped up and sore palms. The hike was led by my 61 years young amazing yoga guru and her husband, and when she took gloves out of her pockets as we walked to the trailhead, that’s when I knew it was going to be rocky. The sign saying no canine friends were allowed anywhere near the place also had me thinking this wasn’t for those able to scratch their way up. But in life, you go with things and I really loved the freedom of not knowing where I was going but taking in the scenery, enjoying the company of fellow yogis and going at my own pace.

The most beautiful part was our resting place at the very bottom of the trail by the water, a really small “beach” where there are small shells littered in the sand and mud and we shared some yogic moments.
(First Picture Above)

Today’s poetry was the hike itself, but it also reminded me of one of my very first poems “We the Gardeners” written when I was 17. I was also reminded of the very first poem I ever wrote about a tree and I don’t know if that experience made me love poetry or if I fell in love with what poetry did for me on the inside, but 23 years later I still find amazement in trees and the symmetry in words and nature. I know I will be smiling on Tuesday at the yoga studio, when Suzie calls for Vrksasana (tree pose), and I assume a leg up stance, hands at my heart.

While I’ll save the lovely fourth grade first poem for another post, below is a poem close to my heart written a few years after that. It’s good to get back to your roots and remind yourself of what you want to aspire to and spread the theme of hope:

We, The Gardeners

With only two paths before him,
Frost took the road less traveled,
Which he says made all the difference,
And a good life unraveled.

But as we stand before you,
At this stage of accomplishment
Are fingers and toes are too few
To count the choices before us.

Take a short journey,
Look down each path as far as we can see,
One takes a sudden turn and
There lay drop offs of uncertainty.

Watch the sun raise its head,
From the pillow to horizon
It gathers us in its glow,
The golden children of this dawn.

The torch is handed to us all
To light up our way;
We grasp it and hear the call
Of the light shining on us we say
Our lives are left up to us…

The second path has overgrown thickets
And brambles hide its way.
The depths of the next is covered by
A frozen veil all the day.

And from beneath its whiteness,
Grows the spring crop of grass,
Poking up into the brightness,
Each stem comes out to broadcast,
Our lives are left up to us…

And so it is with all the rest,
No complete path is there to find,
Our eyes are not the instruments
For seeing ahead of our time.

The future has yet to be written,
Destiny’s path incomplete,
The way we choose or reject
Is not absolute victory or defeat.

We, the gardeners
Maintain the chance.
We, the choreographers
Create the dance.

We haven’t a map to rely on,
pursuing nature’s beauty is not enough,
We must become the dream
So, we roll up our cuffs,

and roll out our tools,
clippers and rake
to make our way.
Tending our garden , the planted flowers say,
Our lives are left up to us,
They are left up to us...

Addendum: Trail Information Below: