The facecloth sky scrubbed us awake for our slow walk on a boardwalk through a peat bog where we swallowed a whole morning – gluttony for the eyes.
We kept away from narrow trails cut through cattails. Instead, we sniffed spent peat breath that Black Spruce and Tamarack couldn’t freshen. Their needles poked the bog where fallen blueberries lay rotting among rosemary shrubs and Labrador Tea, releasing acid digestion.
It was a wild lollipop morning and I waved a fuzzy- tongued bulrush. I was undone by the decomposing bog breeze that wafted across the stewing leaves and briny stumps. The morning perfume of putrefaction – a reminder of now, not later – settled in my hair and soaked my wool socks.
Thanksgiving. Air stuffed – surfeit – the stinky cheese and crackers of life. Replete.