Author: wapatangawilds

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.

Sitting in the mountains all alone except for a lizard camouflaged on the lichen on the rocks. A gap of space lies between me and the rugged rocks beyond, slopes steep, covered in trees, fir and spruce, alone in the mountains rugged, challenging, daunting to think of going down into that deep valley and up the other side, hard to imagine.  I’m sure there’s a trail and I will try it eventually but not today. Today I sit, I marvel at the wonder in the shade, the mountain hiding me from the sun which is intense, it cannot reach me here, at least not yet.  I’m getting the lizard stare, its tail looks like the pine needle just behind it, it curves right into the needle, the same color, the back of the lizard is like the lichen, it is poised between two boulders, not moving, it just stares, lizard stare in the mountain air.

The wind comes over the hills under a gray sky moving through the grass still dressed in its winter tans though Spring has arrived, the ground is dry and waits for a rain. The wind moves through me as well, stirs something in my spirit, something deep, something whole. I do not think, just observe and listen. I lean back against a slab of limestone that stands upright on the prairie like a tombstone, as I sit on the ground, connected to the earth. The earth here rolls with soft hills and valleys with folds and layers. Hills are tucked behind hills. The feeling it gives is gentle, it nurtures the mind, it relaxes the body, it is welcoming, it beckons me into a sense of belonging. The sun shines briefly through a break in the clouds lighting up the grass, then as quickly as it comes, it is gone. The gray returns, the wind moves through the grass, through me. I am content just to sit.

A Silent Space In A Wood

I follow a path trodden flat by the sharp hooves of deer,

dark and thorny branches that sometimes scrape, come very near,

new leaves on the trees, my body twists and sways along the path as I squeeze,

down this wild trail that leads through a last brambly branch,

grabbing on and through cloth, scratching skin,

with a last tug I walk free into a clearing and feel the wind,

the clearing is small with grass and brush, I slow down on the path, no urgency, no rush,

I am here to observe and listen, among dewy leaves that shine and glisten,

I lie back in the grass and feel the good, in a silent space in a wood.

Walking in a prairie wild, my mood as the day, mild,

Wind at my back, colors with the wind, ebb and flow,

In the grasses waving on the hillside and the water’s surface on the pond below,

The sun over my shoulder hazy, invites me to just be lazy,

Sitting on a seat of soft grass and earth,

Still and silent, caressed by nature’s touch in this wild’s berth,

The stems of grass that stand swaying above my head,

last year’s growth, are all dead,

Yet, as I stare, with a growing sense of wonder I become aware,

That in these prairie grounds, under this blue sky,

In the roots and crowns, life abounds,

Aware I am alive, connected to it all as I sit by this pond,

The life in me, in the ground, in the water, a prairie wild’s bond.