Strength of my Father

The day my father died

I went out and bought a walking stick

clipped from a two-hundred

year-old California Redwood.

It has a leather wristband

drilled into the top

and a compass —

a compass that points the way

across the Santa Monica Mountain Range

to the northern tip of the Backbone Trail

and up toward the southwestern loop

then all the way back down

to the blue Pacific.

I’m fifteen years familiar with this mountain.

I’ve been hiking it for the greater part of my life.

But since I bought the walking stick,

I’m lost without it.

It supports me when I’m tired

and when the earth slips

beneath my feet.

It gives me courage

and strength

to walk alone

and endurance

to find my way in the wilderness

as I travel the path of the soul.