Craig Wisner

Father, daughter….East Fork, San Gabriel River. 4/28/12

She’s all smiles, heat, sunlight

and questions

a laughing chatterbox

bouncing down the trail.



Black widow!

Burnt stick!

Calling out the world that surrounds us, making it hers.

No complaints, shouldering the pack with complete acceptance,

we have to go out of our way to cross streams at their deepest,

and in the longest possible way.

Climbing trees and balancing on logs,

everything here is a game.

We put up camp, explore the perimeter, eat.

She settles in beside me to read.

I catch her brushing her hair aside with a casual flick

and I can briefly see the woman that she will be.

My daughter.

My blood.

Mine and yet not mine,


on the river.

Sleepy head hot chocolate morning.


One response

  1. Ken

    Great poem and great trip. Looking forward to taking my daughter to marvel at the concrete bridge in the middle of a nowhere. Maybe spy a few sheep if we’re lucky. Wine bottle isn’t quite ultralight, but I’m guessing the weight was well worth it.

    May 3, 2012 at 11:13 am

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