Walk
We’re off for a walk tomorrow up the big hill at Dovestones. We said we’d do that walk for eight years. I’ll even wear my Lacuna Coil top that I was going to wear years before. Time stands still and I’m back in 04. Before our silly row and my move to London. Now I’m back north and we’re going to defeat the hills. Even though there’s snow on the ground, I saw it from town today when I met a friend for coffee. Be careful we don’t fall and break our legs or it’s an air ambulance job then and a chance to fly in a state of the art Eurocopter chopper. I’ll take my camera to take some cool photos of the snow and the hills.  Bring it on bitch! Yomping up the huge fuck off hill in the snow. Are we mad?

in uncertainty
the certainty
of adventure

Hedgehog Nov 2017

Do you know how living feels like?
A loop,
A never ending hike.

Standing on the road;
Running,walking,waiting.
Bus,sometimes I'm taking.

But never going home.
Never reaching home.
Never knowing home.

''Home is where your heart is.'' ,
They say;
So easy to say.

Do they know where it is?
I don't have any idea,
But I wis.

Still couldn't find anything.
But I feel,
I feel something.

I look at your iris.
It gives me some annoyance,
But also some vis.

Then I decide something.
To carry on.
Carry on living.

But I have nothing,
To rely on.
So I keep wishing

To go home.
To reach home.
To know home.

Feeling disconnected from everything nowadays. So I write this.
Seema Aug 2017

The hilltops from home,
Look like an old man's beard.
Bushy all the way.
Tracks are setup for hiking,
Beautiful scene from above.

©sim

Tanka
5-7-5-7-7 syllables
Joe Cottonwood Jul 2017

Come with me. Here’s
the secret trail. At the edge
of the potato field, crouch through
the barbed wire fence. Pass the stone
foundation of an old homestead.
Enter the maple forest, the green oven.
Bake, slowly rise like a gingerbread figure.
Follow, it’s fine (there’s no witch).
Release rivulets of sweat.
This is nothing, the foothill.

Listen: the purr, the burble, the rush,
the small canyon of Catamount
Creek. Remove boots, splash yourself.
Splash me. Cup water in hands
to pour over the face. Let water dribble
inside the shirt, drip to the shorts.
Relish the shock of cold
against hot parts.

Work uphill now, at last
out of the trees into the land of
wild blueberry. Pluck, taste
tiny tight nut-like explosions of blue,
so intense, so different from store-bought.
Gorge, let fingers and tongue
turn garish. Fill pockets.

Climb with me now among rocky
outcrops like stair steps to the Funnel,
a crevice where from below
you push my bottom, then from above
I pull your hand. Emerge to a view
of valley, farmland, wrinkles of mountains
like folds of flesh. How far we’ve come.
This is the false top.

Catch your breath, embrace the vista,
then join me in a scramble up bare granite,
farther than you’d think, no trail marked
on the endless stone but simply
navigate toward the opposite of gravity,
upward, to at last a bald dome
chilled by blasts of breeze.

At the top, sit with me, our backs against
the windbreak of a boulder.
Empty your pockets of blueberries. Nibble,
share — above the rivers,
above the lakes, above the hawks,
among the blue chain of peaks
beyond your outstretched tired feet.
Appreciate your muscles
in exhaustion and exhilaration.
We have made love to this mountain.

Hear a sound like a sigh from waves of  
alpine grass in the fading warmth
of a lowering sun. Rest.
After this, the return
is so easy.

My favorite mountain in the Adirondacks.
First published in *Plum Tree Tavern*
Josephine R Jul 2017

Stay, please, let us stay.
Allow us to remain
Here
Upon this heavenly summoned rock,
Reigning above the valley below,
There,
Where the horizon meets the setting sun,
And now the beastly songs have just begun.

Let us lay here
Within the silence of the whisp'ring wind,
And the cold, biting air breathing on us.
Farewell, daylight.
Uncloak the suns that were hidden from sight.
Allow the warmth of mine guide me tonight.

Marissa Straw Jul 2017

Everything converges.
The bright orange of the sun
streaking the mountains, the cool
evergreens, the rippling water
from the breeze rushing in and out,
leaves rustling to and fro,
birds singing, squirrels skittering,
all to this moment, for the journey
has fallen behind, and this is all
that is left. The bright and dark
spots left for those to wander.

TraceyLeigh Apr 2017

The day finally came when
I could walk into my sacred space

The white cloak leaving behind
the amazing scent of moist earth

Everything rebirthed
...and so was I

My life involves giving pieces
of me all week...this is where
they come back to me

Blue sky above soothes out
the ridged folds
the browns, ground me
the green vibrant with love~

In this place I am rich
without debt...
without worry...

It also is the place where I sit
quietly, taking it all in
and I swear, I swear
I feel you sitting there
staring out at the river
with me

I swear~

Jon Po Dom Apr 2017

I see your green pastures
Coming back to life
Hear birds singing
The woodpecker moves
To the beat of the tree
Springtime has arrived

The waters rush fierce
Moving fish in its current
Leaves slowly returning
The building blocks of life
Arching over like a tunnel
Springtime has arrived

Water droplets fall off the rocks
Creating miniature rivers
Leading to roaring waters
A stream that flows with life
Washing away my cares
Springtime has arrived

Man made beasts
Move through the paths
Post hibernation
Breathing fresh air
And little ones following closely behind
Springtime has arrived

JM 4/9/17

Went hiking with my son for the first time this season. This is what we saw, heard and felt.
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