Meadows trail

I’ve been walking daily in a wooded area that lies between my house and the Raritan River. Decades ago, the town used the site as a dumping ground for construction material and other municipal waste. 

Now, slabs of concrete emerge from the ground, as immovable as the tree trunks that rest against them.  A rusted metal strip’s curved form echoes the gesture of a nearby branch.  Moss partly covers cinder blocks, connecting them with fallen logs. The debris has taken on a new identity, become part of the natural world: sharp edges eroded, surfaces scarred. 

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