Get Off the Road
Photography by Jordan Bernal
Get Off The Road
By Jordan Bernal
Thorny branches intertwined
Leafy canopy overhead
I am pulled into Nature’s tunnel
Like magic—deeper and deeper I tread
Whisper of wind stirs the leaves
Earthy scents fill the air
Sunlight beckons me forward
Guiding my way—home, ever home
On Get Off the Road
By Paula Chinick
Arboretum hides
the path of least resistance
Maybe, maybe not
By Di Lovitt
On Jordan’s Off the Road
By Lani Longshore
The road sings
an anti-siren song.
“Move along, move along.
Nothing to see.”
My feet tug,
toes reaching for the next step.
“Move along, move along.
Places to go.”
Wings flutter
in the corner of my eye.
I see the promised land
through the woven branches,
the faerie door almost closed.
I kneel before the opening.
The road sings me new song.
“If you stop, you’ll be late.”
What better excuse
for adventure?
By Susan Condeff
I went off the road
hunted happiness
found a marked grave
off the road
chased wonderment
in the wild flickering leaves
tip toed on memories
some dark, some light
some clouded, some clear
off the road
rummaged through damp sadness
caught up in muck
Stuck
Honk!
car behind me
I must move forward
My Path
By Neva J. Hodges
I walked to school
upon the path
where trees stood tall –
thick, a barrier to
the robust
wind that blew.
I left the path once,
when through with
school. The wind of life
blustered, yet
I stood tall
in tears and joy.
I came back to the path
near my home,
sat on a bench
and dreamed
of the years
that had passed.
I’m old, bent, like
the trees are now,
yet hope abides.
There are leaves
along the path. It’s
green with life.
By W. Blake Heitzman
“Hey, this is cool!”
Jaycee stood sideways in the middle of the road, looking down a trail that tunneled through a bramble of branches to a misty exit.
The other two, Janie Lee and James, had seen it but didn’t want to stop—again. Their day hike over Irish back roads had been shattered by a barrage of these Kodak moments.
“Hold on! I’ve got to get this shot,” Jaycee called.
James lip-synced her words and halted his forward motion by throwing his right foot high in a goose step, then pivoting like an automaton. He twisted his face toward clouds that tumbled from the north, their underbellies streaked with a shimmering curtain of rain.
Jaycee wiggled her tripod from its cobalt blue bag.
“Ah, come on.” James mimed a quick handheld snapshot, then flipped his fingers in the direction of the advancing rain. “Just take the picture. It’s about to rain like a bitch!”
The camera swinging from her neck, Jaycee faced James and slapped her hands on her hips, her elbows jutting out. “That’s disgusting! It’s sexist.”
“Yeah,” Janie Lee chimed in, pulled from siding with James over the dilly-dallying to supporting Jaycee against male chauvinism.
“Okay then, rain like a bastard,” he offered.
“Oh!” the girls wailed in unison and laughed in open-mouthed derision, gotcha twinkles in their eyes.
“That’s just as bad—implying female infidelity,” Janie Lee said.
James flinched, shoved his hands straight down into his jeans pockets, and turned away from them. The clouds darkened the sky, and wind whipped the tops of the trees high above them. Jaycee stooped over and clicked off a series of shots, then capped her lens as two big drops splashed on her camera.
“Now you’ve done it!” James shouted, his voice full of vitriol. “We’ll be soaked before we can get to the car.”
Big drops rifled down through the trees with the sound of popping corn. James glanced toward the trail canopied with twisted branches and leaves and rushed into its shelter. With jaw ground shut, he watched Janie Lee help Jaycee push the tripod back into the nylon bag.
“Hey,” he said, “there are voices somewhere near the opening at the other end. I’m sure there’s a pub with a fireplace, Irish coffee, and beer. I hear people playing dominos, cards, and chess, and they’re waving their mugs while they laugh and sing.”
When the girls looked up, he was hurrying toward the distant opening. “Hey! Leave us the keys to the car if you’re going to run off,” they shouted, their voices in harmony. He was already gone.
From the distance, his voice came, high pitched and mixed with giggles. “I left them on a branch in front of you.”
“Huh?” the girls said in unison.
“There.” Janie Lee pointed to the sparkling chrome that hung ten steps ahead of them. They looked at each other and crunched their brows into frowns. Together, they shrugged their shoulders in dismay and walked side by side to the keys.
Jaycee grasped them, and the girls turned to head back to the car. Beyond the canopy, the rain rumbled down in sheets, and inside the shelter, big drops began to drip all about. “The umbrellas are in the car.” Janie Lee’s mouth twisted into a pout.
James’s voice came from far off, singing in its crazed tone. “I left two umbrellas further up the trail.”
“Look!” Jaycee pointed toward a root of a squat, gnarled tree. Two umbrellas lay there, tight in their little nylon bags, one red, one blue.
“Do you hear that?” Janie Lee said as she pulled the red sheath off hers.
Jaycee paused and cocked her ear toward the misty light of the distant exit. “Yes! He’s right! People are laughing and singing. I’m sure it’s dry, and there’s checkers and cards, and Irish whiskey and beer—and a hearth with a fire.”
The wind pushed the rain back to the coast. Sunbeams broke bright and warm through the trees. “What’s this?” Lionel turned sideways in the road to look down the trail through the briar.
“Someone left a daypack,” Leona said, pointing. It lay about halfway down the tunnel of branches.
“Yeah,” Lionel said, and they frowned at each other. “Surely the owner is here somewhere.”
From the far end came a clamor of squawks and high-pitched laughter. Three blue jays fluttered in through the misty portal and flew toward them. Two chased one, pecking at his tail, and tufts of down drifted on the air.
The jays clattered into a nearby tree, where they hopped from branch to branch, the victim turning to fight, the other two scolding, all three fussing and screeching, sometimes at each other, and sometimes at the people on the road. Lionel gave them a cat-like scowl. “Noisy birds,” he said, looking for a rock to throw.
Leona grabbed his wrist and jutted her chin toward the daypack. “Let’s see if we can find the owner.” She pulled him onto the trail. The jays went silent, cocked their heads toward the people, and watched.