devil’s well trail

yesterday, i woke weary from another night of little rest. i had drifted asleep on the couch beside my boyfriend, his presence softening the sharp edges of the night, his warmth keeping the dark from feeling so heavy. morning came slow, spilling light through the windows, and i rose to go wake my wife. i asked her if she would walk devil’s well trail with me, maybe see about fishing in the cave. she smiled, agreed, and just like that, the day began.

if you’ve never been to devil’s well, you should. it is not only a place, it is an experience carved into the earth itself. near eminence, missouri, hidden beneath the hills, lies a cavernous sinkhole with an underground body of water, more than a hundred feet below. a staircase winds downward into the shadows, and at the bottom, through a grate, you glimpse the waters rushing into the current river system. it is raw, ancient, untamed—a reminder that beneath us, the earth is alive, moving, breathing.

the trail is long, winding, and achingly beautiful. my intention was to walk it from beginning to end, to claim its full length, but my body is a fragile fortress. instead, i managed 3.3 miles. that distance, for me, was no failure—it was victory.

i paced myself gently. i stopped when needed, smoked when my chest felt tight, took my pain medication twice to steady my steps. and still, i made it. i pressed further than i had in the past, further than my body often allows. i’ve tried this trail many times before, never making it as far as i hoped, yet always returning, always showing up.

physical therapy told me to move, to strengthen. so this summer, i’ve stitched determination into each attempt. every hike is not only for my muscles but for my mind, my soul, for the stubborn flame inside me that refuses to surrender.

the trail had changed. autumn had begun its quiet work, painting the edges of summer green with hints of fire. spring’s blossoms were memory, summer’s buzzing still lingered, but the air was shifting, carrying a new promise. flowers grew wild along the path—golden, violet, and white—leaning over as if to brush my shoulders, to remind me that even here, in the hard places, beauty blooms unafraid. some stood tall, bold against the sky, while others crept low, small galaxies of petals scattered at my feet.

dead trees rose like sentinels, their bark draped in moss and lichen, proof that endings can cradle beginnings. bees hovered and hummed like guardians of the blossoms. i passed familiar bends in the trail where i had struggled before, where pain had etched itself deep into my memory. facing them again was not easy, but it was worth it—each step another piece of proof that progress lives in persistence.

the smells pulled me deeper: the sweetness of wildflowers braided with the sharpness of cedar, the earth damp beneath my shoes, the endless sky above. the wind whistled and howled through the trees, carrying a language older than mine. and then the river—steady, eternal, silver in the light—its voice louder than thought, softer than silence.

i reached the cave where our daughter fished, her small figure lit by the shadows, her line arcing gently over the water. we watched people float by in canoes, pausing to gaze into the depths, their voices low with awe. my wife and i talked of returning another time, canoeing down together, maybe camping by the water’s edge to let the night soak into us.

we took pictures, small fragments to keep, and then turned back through the trail. my body was aching by the end, exhaustion pressing heavy into my bones, but joy outweighed it. when we reached the car, the thought of fishing more faded into fatigue. instead, we carried home smiles worn and tired, but full.

yesterday was beautiful. every ache, every step, every breath was worth it.

with ink + bloom, 🌻