In the Redwoods

When we visited Big Basin I told you
we went to see ancient trees—big redwoods,
always alive. Sequoia sempervirens.
And we did see them, as well as the gift shop
where I bought a t-shirt and Mom got
a magnet with Sasquatch on it. These woods
people think they know, yet so much lies
far from the road, the off-the-grid cabins,
the decade-old wreck left in a hairpin turn; from
run-down trucks, and occasional vineyards fringing
an expanse of trees even a network of trails
fails to reach. We saw giants standing, leaning,
fallen, sawn—rings so numerous we lost count.
And a bright yellow banana slug, an oddity
exactly like the plastic souvenir in the store.
We walked on muddy paths where our tracks
would soon expand, lose the particular imprint
of our soles, meld with the earth. In the redwoods
you got to see the things we promised. However
I like to think the real treat might have been
being seen. Another set of parents, quieter,
blending with the red-gray trunks well
off the trail, nudging their young, pointing,
nodding toward us as if to say: See?
And upturned faces expressing wonder
at how a creature could possibly walk
on such colorful small feet.