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.
Stay, please, let us stay.
Allow us to remain
Upon this heavenly summoned rock,
Reigning above the valley below,
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.
Uncloak the suns that were hidden from sight.
Allow the warmth of mine guide me tonight.
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.
The day finally came when
I could walk into my sacred space
The white cloak leaving behind
the amazing scent of moist earth
...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
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
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
Breathing fresh air
And little ones following closely behind
Springtime has arrived
on a hot tin roof
Bristol Creek pools
over rock and seed
English wolfhound (and the bark buster)
stroll pine lane
of a cool spring
in cob yellow and
Field mice squander
in cotton wind
goat and ferret
hold seven hour trim
raven and coon
meddle and forage (on a splendid fiaker goulash!)
crickets and frogs
in swollen grey logs
ride the stone wall
coy wolf high
on fray white rope
at Trudy’s bend
watching catamounts laze
on snow base cedar
(pared arbutus bent
through a failed ground rock)
Brush spider spins
a timely web
brown bears fumble
at the local jamboree
crack their nuts
pillow clouds float
over Telegraph Trail
12 point dances
on talus and scree
Harris hawk floats
on the big hard sun
Clydesdale and coach
trot Copper Smith road
on finch and the warbler
the colander row)
Lavender roots fill
the peat soil box
guard the bold white gates
Black Eye ridge
is wide and open
the country squire hails
this fruitful land
I was sharing my dreams with her that evening,
Never realized when the stars started blinking...
With moonlit eyes she whispered without thinking,
"Our dreams are so cute even the stars are winking!"
Days like today where I wake up and my astral eyes are not tired, I go outside. I spent most of my summer this year drowning in blankets, sleeping away what days I was not at work. The heat hurt my heart for it reminded me, every day of the summer I was happy. You know, though, I've been happier than that one, and I know I will again so I regret laying in bed when I could have realized that happiness is not a memory just as much as it is not a destination. It's not a cardinal direction, a left then right with an ending. I don't know what happiness is, honestly. I still spend a lot of my time sleeping, pretending to know what's going on and it bothers me. Deeply. Someday I expect my life to fall into place because I was taught that it will with time, but the strides that build the pathway there are all still shaky and I wonder if I can live a life without crutches someday or if I will still be using stilts to convince the world I'm okay. I have it under control. Today was one of those days where I breathed in air that smelled like my 14th year and normally the memories would surge into my veins and I would go insane trying to rewatch clips in my brain from the times I was laughing, in love. I am not watching my life through rose colored lenses anymore, though. I'm living it through green doors. I miss the conquest. I miss the adventure, control. I used to wake up early just to watch the sunrise and now I'm lucky if I see a sunset. All it took was an extra push and suddenly, for 6 months at least, I was someone else. I was floating in time and I could dictacte every feeling I experienced because I fucking tried to. I just need a redo. Today was that. I will try. I always forget that it was not one big mess with a beautiful ending that created the universe, but instead one big bang with millions of years of evolution, that which still included decay- to build what I stand on now. The Earth was not built in a day, nor was I the summer I'm convinced I was my happiest. So I know that it's one step at a time. And I'm ready.
Early morning, still asleep, but awake. Driving.
Trail head, moving, but still asleep. Starting.
Early blues, dirt and cold, move. Hiking.
Sunrise, waking up, seeing green. Accepting.
Light and day, a smile, and examination. Upwards.
Afternoon, some food, energized. Suspense.
Another start, a drink, you see it. Anticipation.
Final push, sun overhead, sweat. Breaking.
A moment, you're there, the peak. Relief.
A pause, a rest, the magic. Beauty.
Postpone, delay, but down again. Exhaustion.
Aching, sore, but worth it. Descent.
Time, darkness, back again. Driving.
Ahead -- another mountain, tall, for tomorrow. Sleep.
a little rich
in free fall
not yet slippery
with the being
over and on
a green silken