MILTON INTERURBAN TRAIL

The child and I need to escape the house, to stretch tired limbs and work sore muscles. We need to breathe in chill November wind and listen to the rustle of leaves. We need to be amongst songbirds and waterfowl. We head off to curb our wanderlust on the Milton Interurban Trail.


We experience the trail during the prescribed daylight.


The asphalt trail wanders through thickets of cottonwood and alder, through arsenic laced wetlands, next to avenues and streets and ways and I-5.


1/2 mile marker.


Farmland lies fallow for the winter, renewed by rainfall and rotting vegetable matter.


Traffic shoots by on the interstate, cars frantically heading off to shopping and soccer, diametrically opposed to our slow state of affairs—on foot, aimless, kicking rocks and listening to the croaking of frogs and the chatter of titmice.


Hundreds of Canada geese dazzle us with their aerial maneuvers, with their honking, with their less than graceful landings in the mud of freshly tilled fields.


The trees beckon us on our arrival and wave us away on our departure. They stand firm against the brisk wind, grabbing at clouds, snatching at the glimpses of sunshine that peek out infrequently.