The Sierra Nevada is a dwelling
for the old limbless sages
rooted firmly into the ground
three thousand years slid off their annual needles
like rainwater in front of them I disappear into the fog; there together
We meet like old lovers while outside
the others cut tree trunks and ask for more lumber
And of me demand my hands and their labor
They want our lives to be spent for them but in the mist alone we know that the clearest things can be hazy amongst but not lost in the madness of our cultural weather
Notes to self: Potential images or metaphors for next portion:
Sunlight crown is where the smallest needles grow
The weight/ massive quality of something can be negated by the metaphor of the small needles are the ones where the sun hit.
Then,= what does small represent: must decide and zero in
I absolutely love the redwood forest; it has a special place in my heart because it was the first place I moved to by myself. I was 18 alone facing my self (mind, body, spirit) and there was no place to run. I had to simply face myself and the world around me. These trees saw me weep and heal. It felt so good to be in their presence. Some of the are 3,000 + years old. That are real magic, earthly magic-how seeds grows or how our limbs stretch what real life magic