mother bear
three cubs in tow,
wonder I, where
not sure, where to go,

nature's hers, to run,
these feet are mine
bright day with sun-
shining, oh so fine,

gave her room, gave her space
my friend met her face to face,
at the bank of the creek, turned,
ran hard until his lungs burned,

not able to yell,
couldn't tell
if he made it to drive away
yet I heard, the quad saved the day,

Both man and grizzly are alive,
Bear runs the forest, that man drives
and
works out
there with
a shotgun by
his side, buried
his pride.

rain or shine
i shan’t not decline
the desire to ride
nor indoors abide

the sound of the wind is a lullaby
sang by each and every blade of grass
their voices so distinctive no noise can they amass.                                        
Except omitting the motion of movement in the wind,
they play a silent lullaby to echo in the dawn of spring.

Its constant melancholy living in a city.
Your contained between faded yellow lines and blinking red lights.
I yearn for the crisp January moon that isn't drowning in faded street lights and exhaust fumes.
I miss staring out into the misty meadow damp with dew
where fawns grazed lightly and I tip toed away.
Where is the forest that I used to wander,
where I got lost on trails with my father.
Our hearts are wild,
that's why their caged.
But this heart can't be tamed...

Seventy degrees
and the sun is just burning
the tops of the trees.

Sky deep and confused,
Crossed in a settling spectrum,
calm in purple hues

The notes hit my ears,
my head dances in the clouds,
and stars lick my tears.

Space hospitable,
much accustomed to the fall:
inevitable.

I was in a
dreamy state
as we drove through the
mountains,
the bright
Colorado sun reflecting
almost too bright
off of the frozen creek.

The ridges of the
giant turf were
a little too brown for what
I had expected this time
of year,
but the snow had not been
as bountiful as
winters past.

My cell phone lost
service as we glided
along a windy
highway,
so I was left to nothing but
my earbuds and
the thoughts I had avoided.

I felt a strange sensation
of relief as
I realized I didn't have to
speak to anyone,
how I could be left alone
in the midst of a wide expanse of nature,
perhaps the humble surroundings
I needed to
recollect myself.

In the company of
my loving family and
in the presence of
my grandfather's wisdom,
I was bound to find some
sort of peace,
gain some sort of clarity,
for if you couldn't find
serenity in the
Rocky Mountains,
surely something was wrong with you.

I spotted elk in the far
distance beyond the car windows,
and, despite the frigid
single-degree-weather that enveloped them,
I was weirdly envious of
their tranquil presence in the snow,
their freedom to be lost in the wilderness,
their security in the pack that accompanied them.
In that moment,
I wanted to be one of the elk,
running free
into a realm of wild openness,
running free
in the mountains and valleys.
In that moment,
I wanted to be
free.

A head tiny, sticks outward from hole.
Up high, scanning
for dangers distant.

From limb nearby a neighbour it sees,
leaping from branch to branch—
carefree.

Home lined tight with fur and leaf,
warm and soft,
comfort, seclusion, and heat.

With one anxious paw placed on bark's edge,
out it inches, inspecting overhead
for raptor looming.

It scampers out, wandering not far.
The move a tempt to that which might lie
in wait.

As threat proved false, head first its descent,
to reach carpet of flame and leaf, fulfilling desire—
sustenance.

Paw on floor it dismount bark,
big eyes searching for its like,
its competition.

By hop and bound it manoeuvres the land,
beneath arbor owning winter home,
the tall oak.

The giant's arms, splayed to fingers.
By them it propagates, a provider,
a giver of life.

Acorns—a favoured meal, the crop this year so small,
many have come to feast of nut
bitter.

Some too small, or marked, or holed.
Those unripe buried to percolate until
delight.

Ever wary, amassing winter store,
searching and scratching, until finding one
just right.

Teeth like sabres, peeling case to flesh beneath,
a bushy tail demands black eye. Oh,
envious brother.

Scramble ensues, a chase, feathery tails waving,
barking forth and back,
a harmless show.

After a moment they part,
ownership retained,
precious maintained in
possession.

Upon fallen log it sits, billowly spine curled over back.
In hands it roles, fingers gripping, shell piling, teeth gnawing—
Content.

A sudden snap,
an echo
unheard.

A strike so swift,
so accurate,
painless.

There one moment,
the next,
simply gone.

One bounce, then two, the acorn falls.
The prize once won, return to earth,
eviscerated—unclaimed, destined for
decay.

Leaf beneath boot, the hunter's approach,
neither with joy nor smile, steps heavy with
weighted soul.

Unsheathing hand from leather,
stooping, reaching low to prey at peace in
Autumn's Ember.

Warm in grip, yet frame gone limp,
a regretful finger stroking
stilled body.

A life of worth, of value,
seen as pest by most though beauty by
him.

This place, its home, the grounds on which it foraged,
forever quieted, absent presence, its
life.

No longer would two roam and chase,
where pair competed for food sparse, now live one
with plenty.

High in timber, the hole not long ago dwelling,
warm and secure, awaiting occupant's return in vain.
Tonight cold, empty—
lonely.

On the morrow, upon lifting sun,
the leaves at Titan's base would rustle fail, the
playfulness gone.

Fur flat, tail fallen between fingers bare,
his life's consequence far reaching, not without effect,
not without
footprint.

Soon to leave, his presence gone,
the absence in his wake, his mark on the land,
the place
now quiet.

A broken heart,
for sake of
breath.