David K. Leff, Essayist, Poet, Lecturer

Talus Slope (New England Trail Haibun)

Between East and west Peak each footfall is a thought. Leapfrogging from rock to rock, the steep slope leaves one leg shorter than the other. It’s a barren, otherworldly zone of jagged lichen scabbed stones, a desert of interlocking blocks where little grows. This drear, naked jumble lying like a piece of abstract land-art was judged mean and valueless by colonials. It’s still an eerie slice of primeval.

In this strange, topsy-turvy mystery place, winter ice survives deep among crevices and cavities, caressing my legs with cold drafts in July. January brings the mists of moist summer breath from among the stones as if a creature exhaled from below. Surrounding rocks wear collars of lacy rime.

In warmer weather, snakes sunbathe and slither among the helter-skelter puzzle of broken basalt and flaunt their footless advantage. Black racer, rat snake, or gilt striped garter, they glide effortlessly without legs. The trail isn’t always easy for walkers.

garden of sharp rocks
breaking a wayfarers rhythm
dance among the stones

(Haibun is a marriage of prose and haiku.  It was first practiced by seventeenth-century Japanese poet Matsuo Basho who perfected the form in a journal he kept on a trip to the remote regions of northern Japan. Gary Snyder, James Merrill, and Jack Kerouac are among American interpreters of the genre.  Haibun best expresses the spirit of the New England Trail because it combines clear-eyed prose descriptions of people, objects and places along with poetry that awakens the imagination.  To travel the entire New England Trail with 90 haibun go to https://www.ctwoodlands.org/blue-blazed-hiking-trails/half-million-footsteps-journey-through-poetry-the-new-england-trail)

The New England National Scenic Trail, a unit of the National Park Service, runs 215 miles from Guilford, Connecticut to the Massachusetts/ New Hampshire border.  The trail is maintained by volunteers of the Connecticut Forest & Park Association in Connecticut and the Appalachian Mountain Club in Massachusetts.  For more go to https://newenglandtrail.org/

Roadside Pillars of Fire

October brings pillars of fire to southern New England roadsides. On a walk or from behind a windshield I find bright shoots of blazing yellow and red climbing tree trunks and utility poles. Poison ivy (Rhus radicans) vines and Virginia creeper (Parthenocissus quinquefolia) flutter in breezes like flames licking their way upward.

Of course, this region is famous for its autumn hues, drawing leaf peeping tourists and residents alike to high points with sweeping vistas or to that lone sugar maple in a field that explodes with a floral bouquet of color. Unfortunately, it’s tree crowns and branches that get all the glory. Few people notice the vibrant vine-wrap that decorates dull gray trunks or the barked utility poles that once were trees. To me, these accidental columns of color are among the most arresting of fall phenomena. I sometimes imagine they are fuses, lit and igniting the leaves above them.

No doubt vines have a bad rap. Except for ivy on college buildings, or those cultivated for wine and other agricultural products, they are too often an entangling invasive nuisance. Woody  Asiatic bittersweet may have its autumnal allure with yellow fruits that spilt to reveal glossy red seeds, but it can strangle mature trees to death, reducing the victim to a mere armature or trellis for the vine. Mile-a-minute vine is an attractive annual with triangular blue-green leaves, but it creeps over everything in its way, matting down other plants and often depriving them of sunlight. As the name suggests, it spreads lightning fast and is pretty much impossible to eradicate. While these pernicious vines have their beauty, they lack the startling fall tints of poison ivy and Virginia creeper.

Highly allergic since childhood, I am no fan of poison ivy and assiduously keep my distance. “Leaves of three, let them be,” was a familiar mantra of my youth. Largely spreading by underground runners, it grows even in deep shade. Although I’m pleased that birds find sustenance in the grayish-white berries, it also means that poison ivy is common beneath avian perches such as tree branches and utility wires, and along fences and walls. But given that poison ivy is here to stay and likely to thrive in increasing atmospheric carbon dioxide, the glowing and glossy mottled yellow and red of its climbing compound leaves in October gives me some comfort. A plant that has brought me much discomfort over many years can provide a bit of joy with its this seasonal display.

Nothing can compare to the electric purplish-red of Virginia creeper in autumn. Sometimes confused with poison ivy, this plant is a benign beauty with five (and occasionally three or seven) coarsely toothed and pointed leaflets radiating fan-like. With tendrils ending in adhesive-like tips, it can adhere to walls without penetrating rootlets, allowing it to grow on buildings without damage, unlike, English ivy. This is a vine you can safely surround yourself with and live within. Its blue fruits are eagerly eaten by chipmunks, mice, skunks and a wide range of birds. Little noticed during the growing season, in fall it becomes a linear conflagration.

Enjoy these flaming columns for the month or so we have them. They light up not only tree trunks and utility poles, but all manner of vertical structures. They get woven into fences, cascade over highway sound barriers, and abandoned buildings. Like the biblical burning bush, they have a fire that doesn’t consume, and is only quenched by the progress of the season.