A bed of pine needles
and the wind’s lullaby.
A star studded night
breaks to dawn’s pale sky.
High rocky ridge
reached by steep forest trail;
hidden valley below--
grey mist casts a veil.
Miles I will travel,
On my back I will carry,
like a snail, my home.
I will walk on, walk on; I will die alone.
Let the birds eat my body; let the sun bleach my bones.
Bring on the adventure,
Bring on the pain,
Bring on the laughter,
Bring on the games!
Lets go wild,
Lets just feel free,
Let the wind rush threw us
As we stand tall as trees.
I want my muscles to ache,
I want my back to sweat,
I want to be covered in dirt,
And to be out of breathe.
I want to stare at the precipice
And look straight down.
I want to fall into the abyss
And laugh the whole way down.
I want an adventure
That thrills me to the core.
That leaves me tired and exhausted,
Yet always wanting more.
-ALC March 9, 2017
White mountains capped in satin,
North face hiding behind a veil of frigid diamonds.
How I long to caress your powdered cheeks.
To float down your ivory aisles.
How I long to toast your champagne kiss.
To hear you softly whisper "I do" beneath my feet.
How I long to traverse across your velvet curves.
To fall head over heels into your feathery embrace.
There's just something about getting cold feet.
I could wed you every single day & never grow tired of this frosted bliss.
I passed by that tree the other day.
The one nestled between two thorn bushes
and just past a ravine
along the upper trail of Old Man’s Cave in Hocking Hills,
surrounded by two thousand acres or so
of dense forest.
I laughed to myself because
The old birch hadn’t changed since I had last seen it.
But it certainly felt different.
The same gray cloak of bark
covered the tender matter inside.
Golden foliage still swayed above me
like it did on that brisk November afternoon.
Today is brutally brisk,
but I have to admit that I did stop for a second to reminisce
under the once comforting blanket of its shadow.
I fixed my now nostalgic, sepia-toned gaze on the bark
and traced my fingers over the scar that we left.
I remembered looking for the perfect one with you.
It was this one, we both thought.
And so were you, at least I thought.
My cold blade carved into the robust fortress of its surface
exposing the birch’s reddish-tan, natural finish underneath.
It then became our tree,
not just any tree, in a forest, on a planet full of them.
I remembered you telling me a couple months back about
how much you admired trees,
and how I should read Trees. Reflections and Poems
by Hermann Hesse, and I did almost immediately.
“Trees are sanctuaries.”
was our favorite quote from the poem, we decided.
And it was the most relevant.
Our tree had become a grand symbol
that would carry in our memory,
what it meant to love and be loved.
But now its just that,
another tree in a forest
that we scarred.
And that, now, scars us.
I was so sick
Of all the News,
Especially about this Stupid Presidential Campaign
Between Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump
And I was so sick
Of all the Stupid, Cliquish,
Snobbish Ass Holes in Denver
That I decided that I needed to Escape from the World.
So, I found a Secret Cave
High in the Colorado Rockies
On a U.S.G.S. Topographic Map.
I bushwhacked over steep and slippery hills,
After a long, tough hike,
Found the Cave.
When I walked in,
I saw none other than the Prophet Mohammed,
Sitting there praying with his beads.
I said to him, "Hey, dude, Mohammed?"
"What the heck are you doin' here?"
"Muslims don't believe in Reincarnation, do they?"
Mohammed replied to me sharply.
"Moskowitz, who the hell told you that Buddhists"
"Are the only ones capable of Reincarnation?"
"The Dalai Lama?"
"Don't you know"
"That Allah is capable of all things?"
I felt perplexed.
What was the Prophet Mohammed doing here in Colorado
With all these Stoners?
"Listen here, Dude," I told him.
"You're supposed to be in Arabia."
"That's what it says in the Qu'ran!"
Mohammed was not discouraged in the slightest
By my Arrogance
One cave was just the same as another.
"What difference does it make?"
"All these Categories were created by Human Beings,"
Pointing his finger at me while preaching.
"Mr. Moskowitz, this entire World is globalized."
"Do you think that I don't know about the Internet?"
"Where do your shoes come from?"
"China, I suppose."
"I told people to seek Wisdom from as far away as China,"
"But I didn't tell them to go to China
"To buy their shoes."
"Either sit and peace and pray with me,"
"Or go on your way so I can pray in this cave in peace!"
I felt that the Prophet Mohammed
Had a valid point about Globalization and Chinese Shoes.
So, I sat and prayed with him,
But eventually, in the relaxing atmosphere
Of that cool, humid cave,
I fell asleep.
When I woke up,
The Prophet Mohammed was gone.
I wondered if I had actually seen him,
Or if I had experienced some sort of Hallucination.
Differentiating between Reality and a Hallucination
Is just another Arbitrary Category.
I guess that's what the Prophet Mohammed
Was trying to tell me.
Strata upon her lope with hope to everyone
when leaves would fall betwixt these righteous paths
whether your forks gathered rain
as autumn found together in sheer delight
where dryness perchance had provoked many living trunks
and maple syrup was flowing from sap
so delicious these hot cakes fulfilled grace and picnics in Eagles Mere.
I ascend the VERY vertical mountain slope
Stepping upon twisty Snake roots and snail shell boulders
I'm a clumsy Billy Goat
The rain falls silently
It leaps off emerald leaves and rolls off ground bound rocks
They glisten with beauty and dangerous slippage
Awkwardly I scramble up an incline
Pebbles scramble to escape my scattering feet
And with a less than graceful hop, skip, and jump
I reach the peak!
In a epic display of perfect timing sun beams streak through the parted clouds
For me it's a moment of awe
We hike Elk trail, just you and I
The sky a 1972 blue
Its ceiling stretches long and wide
Some cirrus sifted wisps there too
I keep my focus on the ground
As not to trip you up ahead
Loose granite making crunchy sounds
"More youth and stamina", I said
Then match my rhythm with your step
Remembering all my treks before
While you, a dream I hadn't met
Now fill them in with so much more
And when we reach the mountain top
An eagle keeps us company
Sun shadow times remaining clock
The signal that it's time to leave
I watch your lithesome limbs descend
And think in twenty years or more
You'll wish the daylight would not end
When with your daughter you explore
Written by Sara Fielder © Jan 2015
Canyon walls don’t question whether
They’ll keep rising or they’ll fall
Packed and crowded altogether
Many maze like rosy halls
Granite red ‘gainst bluest morning
Skyward I climb up the view
With my solitary yearnings
As I bid the ground adieu
Largely looming outdoors roomy
Quiet landscape, miles of wide
Skittish lizards spy me moody
Horizon spreads to stretch my eyes
At the top, my writing tablet
Begging for a piece of her
Seeks description, poet's habit
'Cept that here there are no words
Written by Sara Fielder © Feb 2014
At this stage of my old earth age,
the once pink sand of my island skin grown thin,
eyes dimmed by the white hot glare of sunshine sea,
my youth, a memory, I lay.
These stoney bones no longer hold
the victory dreams I had to conquer mountains.
I climbed a few, but knew by intuition
I could stake no claim on their majesty.
The strings of bronze flecked hair
soaked with sweat a testament of my defeat.
And now, they speak through my confused
gray splatter matter mind with a whisper saying,
"We held no malice".
Written by Sara Fielder © Jun 2013