Author: wapatangawilds

The Moon seemed to touch the Earth this morning, but before it did, it touched me, as it hovered just above the Earth’s crust, glowing full and bright, even as behind me the sun was already rising, the moon was setting over the Flatirons, and for a few stunning moments seemed to hover over them, I found myself paused in that moment, and unable to travel on to where I was going, but not lost, found.

Deep and alone in a forest, I lean back against a tree, look up, see the sky, see the tree branches reaching for the light, I stand still, lean back, as long as I like, I rest, I look, I listen, I breathe, we exchange oxygen and carbon dioxide,  an intimacy in the silence, each giving what the other needs, in the sun, breaths of life,  I breathe deep,  a calmness moves through me, a warm gentle shiver through my limbs, and it makes me think of the tree’s limbs and I imagine what it would be like to be this tree I lean against, to be as resident as this tree, living and growing in the exact same spot on the earth where I was birthed, for my entire existence,  never leaving this spot, rooted to the ground, getting sustenance from the soil below and the air above, here day and night my entire life, and in my imagining I realize I am feeling the life in this tree and that the life in this tree is the same life in me, is me, then dawns the truth, that as long as I breathe the breath of life, I am always leaning against a tree. 

Sitting again in a wild, in a small bowl like depression, steady light snow falling, becoming more intense, a thick fir forest in front of me, ponderosa pine and open grass meadows behind me, I came here on a secret path, an abandoned trail, traveled only by wildlife, and myself, following it took me across a dense woodland growing up and down a steep slope, knowing I will not see another person, it’s what I hope for, Falling Snow walking and sitting in falling snow, on a hidden trail, in a forested valley, in nature’s realm, at the eastern edge of the Rockies, simply looking to live, for a while at least, in solitude and silence.

The morning mountain peaks rugged and steep are popping white in the morning sun after a fresh coat of snow, a brightness as fresh as a sunflowers yellow in a summer sun, and so I imagine these mountain peaks glowing in the sun as a snowflower, and like a flower there for a season, until melting, it flows down mountain streams, to my feet, where with care I cast a line, in a gentle valley below the mountains, and the first light of the sun finally kisses the frost-coated earth around me with a touch of welcome warmth, and another day comes awake, seeming to yawn and stretch with me, as it sheds the cold dark of night, after the stars have disappeared, and in the midst of this wilderness wonder, like the snowflower,  I melt and flow with contentment in mountain dreams, and I am happy. 

Snowflakes falling on snow drifts carved by the wind, conifers tall as spires as I sit on a log in a winter wild, all alone, enjoying the beauty,  even the chill, sitting still, things of the world are gone away, worries take their leave, there’s a freedom here that requires no seeking, no believing, no fighting, it just is, it touches me in its  wildness, in its pristine nature, absent of judgement or shame, a freedom from self, a freedom to feel alive, to possess a joy of life, to be at peace with myself. 

From a ridge top at dusk, a deer and a coyote looking down at me, looking up at them. I’m walking in their world, in a wild, I don’t want to interrupt their wanderings, I don’t want to intrude, I’m the outsider, I keep my distance, as they do too. I’m looking for a spot to stop in the forest, where I can sit, in solitude and nature’s silence, where the mood is relaxed. I find it, at the top of steep descent among ponderosa pine trees and needles. I look up to the sky. I see a tassel-eared squirrel in the branches of a tree. I sit down and lie back into the slope. I lounge while observing the patterns of the needles above me, against the fluffy white clouds in an otherwise blue sky. Then the wind comes. I hear it above me, I see it in the movement of the tree branches, I feel a coolness across my body.  I am connected.

In a winter sun, among bluestem grass seedheads, I am sitting on the ground, watching two bull elk lying on the ground watching me, we hold each other’s attention, yet not bothered, relaxed, sharing a winter morning, completely silent, at rest, sharing an open space, sharing life, I feel more alive, feeling this is what it is to live, I’m more in touch with the Earth and all its life, from soil to antler, from land to sky, born to die, breathing out, breathing in the calm, feeling the peace in a wild, I am a nature’s child, birthed from Earth to live and return again to the Earth.

The mountains in winter, with snow coming down, I think of as my friend, but on a wilderness trek I know they could also be my end.  I keep that in mind as I begin once again, starting from high plains grass, walking through a grove of cottonwood, to climb, rising with the land, through groves of pine and aspen and snow-laden boughs of fir, into rock and boulder as my heart finds it’s pace and its place, all alone in the cold, turning to look back at the tracks I leave in the snow.  I pause, slow my breathing, standing very still, feeling every muscle, fiber  and bone, taking it all in, getting my fill of mountain pulses, flakes flowing down, as wind blows and swirls, I find myself somewhere between earth and sky, between life and death, in a dance, in a kind of romance, no need to speak, the silence says it all, and then I move on, with intention, with care, rising ever higher with the land, walking on a winding path, following as far as my heart leads, flakes in my eyes, walking on a winding path, looking, my ears listening, until finally I stop, sit, and in the solitude soak in the wonder, grace and power that is a winter wild. I sit in silence, in peace,  in warmth, recording in words inspirations that come unbidden, yet, welcome into my heart and mind. Then, when I begin to feel chilled my stay is complete, I feel a pull to start back down, and I turn towards home with a feeling of satisfaction.

Another day to be alive, doesn’t matter the weather, sky gray or blue, frost or flowers, or when forecast snow doesn’t show, when it all goes south, the challenge then is if I can embrace the miss and breathe of the life in another day, see the color in a leaf, the mountains under a mist, the sun rising in the air, if I can allow myself the simple pleasure of following a dirt path up a prairie hill, to a quiet place, enjoying the feel of the earth under my feet, the wind in my hair, and sit, slowing down enough to hear my friends, the tallgrasses speak, speak to me of living free in a wild, of leaves growing green in the sun, of soil soaking up the rain, of standing strong in the wind, of resilience, of being alive, right now, where I am rooted.

The warm days of November are upon us, sun feels hot, no snow, not even any rain, no frost, I find myself looking for winter, as I walk in my Cottonwood woods at dusk I sense it in the branches bare, the early sunset and the chill in the air, and as I reflect on the passing of another day,  I don’t know why but it gets me thinking I’m getting older, that as the daylight fades along with the Fall season, so too are my years, the end of my time here is not so far away anymore, I do feel a bit sad about that, but mostly my walk leaves me wanting to enjoy the  time left and be glad for this life.