Jupiter is
           a gas giant;
                       Zeus is
                               an old fart.

There are points in one's life when you begin to become runneled and rumpled, with untidy growths,
hot flashes without prior initiations, birthdays celebrated like footprints after the feet have moved on.

Which way to walk today? At a trailhead Hermes the Trickster waves me on to swim across a river of
dry stones, a rugose path past a big cat's paw prints circling a bowl of dry earth.

I sit on a bench with a plaque: "In Memory of Winnie Hersch," wondering for a moment who she was,
then open the spring-loaded gate to the National Forest,
and let it....
CLANG!
back.