This summer I saw mountains
Thrusting out of the sea,
And mountains mellowed with age,
Rounded, softer, quietly returning to the sea.
I saw Redwoods: massive
Majestic, alive,
And marveled as I held seeds
From which they thrive.
I wondered at hands that could be so old
As those that carved the living stone
In rocks by the sea;
I stood in awe hundreds of feet
Beneath blankets of branches
Of ancient trees.
I listened as mountainous streams
Sang songs of the sources
Of life-giving waters.
I saw flowers too many to name
Running up and down grassy hillsides,
In and out of pine-scented forests,
Along rivers,
Through meadows,
Etc.
Etc.
Etc.*
But why am I telling you this?
Because, of course,
I must prove I am free,
That I can see beauty
all around me.
But it seems
The less I feel free,
The less beauty I see, and
The louder I shout, “I am free, I am free”,
The more I scream, “I see, I see”.
It’s all a game,
You see;
you see.
I just try to follow the rules.
August 1, 1970
*(edited 10/11/2014)