Some trails were tunnels of branches.
I used a shirt dipped in water to wipe
from my limbs poison oak oil.
We saw a frog beside the creek.
You nearly stepped on it.
We heard others as we walked,
a good sign. No poppies,
but small-petaled purple-blue flowers,
folded in on themselves,
and five-petaled lavender ones,
on vining greenery. A big bush,
almost like a tree, in full blossom.
You are as tall almost as me.
You were once here on my back
like that baby we passed in the sling
on the woman, she as young at least
as I was then. Several creek crossings:
Unsteady rocks, wet shoes.