Guess I am A Public Person

I find myself grateful for land open to the public. Guess I am a public person. I don’t have any private land. Odd concept in a way, private land. Seems arrogant somehow to claim we can own land. Indians did not have that concept. I think I prefer being a public person. I do not feel a need to own land. I do not have a desire to call a piece of land mine. I prefer being on land that is open to all, to share it, to care for it in community.  So here I sit on the public side of the fence. In fact, there is sign on the fence I can see from here that says, private land, to let you know where land stops being public and becomes private. This day dawns a slate gray, a north wind blows, trees on the ridge touch the low lying clouds, beyond the last fence dark grass blankets the hills where I go walking, blooms are gone, the feeling turns raw, silence resounds, reality abounds, gratefulness resides deep within. The sun comes out at times turning the grass to a burning red, but gray dominates the day. Later returning across the top I see the valley home, I know the valley home, this thought comes, I will never know what I did not find, that’s what keeps me looking. One day turns to two, and a great blue glides across a great blue over the great grass called blue in the rising sun. I sit in a nearby wood, a warm fire crackles beside me, leaves fall gently, nudged by a gentle breath of wind, they make a sound like rain falling, its effect is gentle on me, I find myself inclined to sit watching leaves fall one at a time, in groups, or not at all, not much going on here, yet so much I cannot take it in, it merely overwhelms, its simplicity so complex, its presence so profound, its contemplation a delight.  Two days turn to three, with a watery, misty beginning upon the still waters of a lake. I reach a far shore and follow a path in grassy hills to a far pond. Later when returning I find a log and sit under yellow cottonwoods by a yellow willow, with red sumac heads standing above tan grass heads, goldenrods and thistles gone gray and white with seed. The sound of cottonwood sings in the wind, the sun lights leaves into a glow around me, once again gratefulness resides, this is the long longed for Fall.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s