Author: wapatangawilds

Went for a walk in the woods today, on a snowy trail, to observe, listen and write, to lean back against the strength of a pine tree, and delight. Climbed up a south facing sloping, holding my off- trail permit, to a grassy area lined with rounded boulders, where snow was melted and saw juncos, heard crows, as I stood in the late day light. Walked higher, stepping in knee deep snow, to sit on a flat rock and saw a bear track, then chewed up yucca and so the question came, do bears eat yucca? And then, as happens to each life moment, it was time for this one to end, so I reluctantly, yet willingly, turned toward home, a chattering squirrel seeming to note my leaving.

Full moon setting on pines, in the early morning, after a chilly night, I follow my shadow, toward mountains in the sun, on trails bending, into a wild, wind pouring life into me, patches of snow nestle in grassy meadows, I look up at mountains rising behind mountains to dark snow clouds moving in, my body and mind relax, I move to a place to sit, in the cold, by cattails and a pond skimmed with ice, and as geese sound off high in flight, they draw my eye once again  to mountains in the sky.

Where are the bears, gone to their lairs, gone to a den, in a hidden glen, gone into a sleep so very deep, a wild wind blows, bringing first snows, nature sighs under early winter skies, and as the sun sets cold on rocks so very old, down a forest path I wander, life all around and within me to ponder,  aware of life and death, with each breath, aware of each rock and tree, feeling free, yet, as I continue a cold wilderness roam, what warms my heart is the thought of home.

Lightning flashes in the dark before the dawn, high up behind Green Mountain, a storm, that never arrives, and now in the light of day, alone along a mountain path where the trail makes a switchback, by asters yellow, purple and white and leaves still green, I am come out of the night, sitting on the ground, in a forest clearing, resting against a log, sunlight dapples yellowing leaves that quiver in a late summer breeze, ferns hang like rusting eaves, ponderosa pines smelling of vanilla stand tall, buzzing insects and wind high in the pines and in the brush the only sound, I look around, I take it in, I feel something in this moment, something in the pine scented breath of the air, in the light reflected in the swaying grass tops, in the warmth that is not hot, if I was asked what is it, I would reply simply, it is exquisite.

Sitting in mountain shade, out of the warming sun, above where the great plains wane and foothills rise to greet a setting moon over a snowcapped divide, there’s a chill in the breeze, yet, the sun is warm.   I sit on rocks amidst pines with twisted evergreen branches, alive together, in air that feels crisp, clean and fresh, amongst rounded, wrinkled boulders, above where the Arapaho wintered, out of the high mountains deep snows and away from the high plains winds. I am just sitting in the still, in the silence, between plain and mountain, where I can see both, either the beginning of both or the end, I’m not sure which.   I’m feeling cold now in the shade and breeze, it tingles in my fingertips, and yet though warmth waits just near me in the sun, I stay, enjoying the chill, eying the snowcapped peaks to the west. They keep me here.   I look to the east and feel a roaring in its immense, open distances. I look to the west, and feel a soaring in its rugged, inspiring heights. I am content.

Off the main trail now, on to a foot path where there is solitude and shade. I needed both. Now I sit on lichen covered rugged rock slabs on the edge of a cliff looking out at a mountain peak. The sun has been warm, but now in the shade with a breeze I find a beautiful refreshing moment. There is a payoff in just sitting still. In the silence and the solitude with a bird song in my ears, with leaves fluttering, sitting among pine trees soaring toward rocky mountain views, there’s a peace that comes, a quiet comes, that I don’t know where else I can find.  And I find it hard to move on, though I am on my way to a meadow I want to be in today. I want to move on to the meadow, yet, this spot holds me, as if it holds a spell over me. Its rocks and light and air and view of the sky all so mesmerizing, I find myself still here still sitting. I came this way bound for a favorite meadow and along the way found this pleasant spot.  The beauty, the wonder of it almost brings me to tears. I guess that’s what I will call this place… a pleasant spot. But I’m going to move on now. I do want to make it to that meadow.  Its bloom and smells of wild bergamot and the sound of bumble bees and sight of butterflies will welcome me in the breeze at seventy degrees.

I like it when there’s snow on the peaks, I love the early winter weeks, when leaves have finished dropping, when I feel the summer heat stopping,  I like when daylengths are in decline and to lie under a tall pine, all alone, watching a jay feed on a cone, I like when snowflakes are teasing and lakes are freezing, when I can be first to leave tracks in new snow before it gets deep on the mountain steep, and I love to be out in temperatures and snow falling, with a winter wild calling.

My spot of solitude lies still after a fall of fat, flakes of snow, flurries still in the trees as the sun tries to come out, a spot to sit, to listen, observe, without and within, where I can hide in solace and silence, in the mountain air,  in a hidden lair, sitting on the ground, wind and birds the only sound,  and suddenly I’m aware I cannot hold these moments in time, no matter how sublime, they slip away with each passing day and I find myself asking if no matter how many times I come out here, in the end, when I am gone, or just can come no more, will it have mattered that I since a child I went out into the wild?

Wordless Beauty

Sitting, breathing the view, nothing needed to do,

shooting star, bumble bees, mountain breeze,

jagged peaks’ snows, wind blows,

birds sing, flowers show, life’s flow,

in the trees, in time passing, rocky mountain’s way,

clouds, craggy cliffs, wordless beauty, nothing to say,

tall spruce, lily pad lake, maybe moose,

sitting log, chorus frog, rock, stone, silent, alone,

beautiful, but why?

rock and snow, cloud and sky,

tree and water, beauty’s fodder,

if beauty a fire, would burn to inspire

Distracted by wilderness, one trail leads to another, lake to stream to beauty like a dream, following peaks to the sky past melting snow, wildflowers blooming nature’s show, aspen leads me on to spruce and fir, reaching alpine heights, in my heart a stir, thinning air fills each breath, my mind pushing me past where my legs want to stop,  to the top.