Author: wapatangawilds

Heard a crashing in the brush, then a splashing in the stream, it’s a September bear, cuz that’s when they are there, and in the stream maybe flows a dream, in the ripples, in the sunlight’s gleam, like the water, moving past rock and boulder, every moment I get older, moving on, never stopping, September’s not a stop, leaves only begun to drop, it’s part of the flow, sometimes it’s where I am now, sometimes it’s where I’ve been, sometimes where I want to go, like the stream I’ve happened upon, always moving along, always new water coming on, September can feel like a pause, seeming to sit still, between two seasons like between valley and hill, but, September’s not a stop, it’s moving on, leaving me waiting for October leaves to drop.

Up through and past October Aspen still some with color yellow, to branches bare, to snowflakes in the air, beyond the firs to Little Raven, no tracks in the fresh fallen snow, a haven, walking by little summer meadows at the beginning of a long winter sleep, the stillness and solitude are deep, standing under the branches of now white evergreen my mind turns to thoughts of things now unseen, to people who lived this land long ago, before the gold, people we call Arapaho, I stop and sit on a rock and in the wind it seems I hear a voice talk, this place you now roam. to us was not a wild, it was our home, nature’s sounds were all we heard and like in you our  hearts were stirred

Where I sat and felt alive, in a quiet place of grass and rock, before I walked past a  lonely looking Cottonwood, following a well-worn path, as in life we often do, and then up to meet the sun on solitary ridge and say good morning to the setting moon in the cool of early October, starting another day, away, thinking life goes too slow, goes too fast, and now I’m riding down radiation trail, stopping to be all alone by a dying pine tree and listen to birdsong and see the moon hiding in the bushes, thinking we never get all of our wishes, only some of our dreams come true, but it’s always ever only today, so I rest in the moment on a morning when the moon goes behind the mountain as a new day is rising

It’s getting toward the end of August, sunflower petals fading, a season soon ending, the green of June is just a dream, Broomweed and Blazing Star bloom along the trail, Bluestem is gone to seed, The grass is so dry it makes a crunchy sound as I walk. The hills seem old and like they are aching for a change, or maybe that’s just in me. Time can seem so slow, yet pass so fast. This morning it feels like time is in the breeze, and in the crickets sounds, and in the sedges by the little wooden bridge, or maybe it’s just in me feeling the passing of time. Then I sit in the shade of a hill for a time and wonder, how I will know when it’s time to go, how much time to pass here, sometimes it seems like no matter how much time we get, it will never be enough, so now I wonder, is it the hills that seem old or is it just me?

Morning Glow

The colors of the Fall as if sleeping in the night are waking in the early light,

adding to my sense of wonder, yet, warning of the frost tree branches will soon be under,

in this coolest part of the day, there’s a peace words can’t say,

it seeps inside, finds a space in me to abide,

fills the air, invites my stare,

and then the sun begins it’s show, morning glow

Cottonwoods rise up from the snow with branches bare into a glowing gray sky, hanging in the air, like memories rise in my mind, sometimes I wish I didn’t so much care, sometimes the snow lies a long time, lingers on the ground in the cold, like memories linger in my mind, memories old, so many, some I wish I could wish away, most, beyond measure, I treasure

Snowflakes lightly floating down,

I’m resting among rounded rocks by a small fire just above a small lake in a mountain forest,

windblown snow drifts lie against a steep bank,

gray clouds in the sky from which flakes fly, 

nature doesn’t ask the question why,  it just is,

doesn’t matter whether I am here or not,

it continues on cycling through the seasons without having to explain or give reasons,

my hands feel the warmth of the small flames, my toes feel the cold winter,

my skis lie up on the top of the bank waiting for me to return ,

I feel the flick of small snowflakes on my face,

but I’m in no rush, I am content to sit and wait myself,

hoping for more snow,  I’m in no hurry to go,

 The fir trees are my companions, 

I will sit quietly and like nature ask no questions why,

ask for no reasons, just be here,  just be alive

Snow is in the air

I stop and stare

Flakes are swirling,

In the wind twirling,

I’m pulled into it all

Become a part of its fall

This is a time it seems

To remember hopes and dreams

The ones that came true,

The ones that made me blue,

And ones yet to come

Even now there are still some

 

Yesterday I walked in falling snow, today the garden is covered in white, hummingbirds remind me it’s getting late in May, walking in clouded sunshine, in falling snow, winding through mountain and pine, last flakes in downward flight, reflect the sun’s foggy light, now I walk in sunshine, in the rain, winding past boulders, sunlight and raindrops on my shoulders, then the sound of thunder rumbles in the air, up on the mountain, on the peak they call Bear, rolling down into the valley in the mist, in the drizzle, lightning crackles, rain falls like tears, the sun disappears , the wonder, the thunder, the glow, the snow, enjoying the pace, nature’s embrace, and wishing only for a world with no rich, no poor, more than enough at every door