Author: wapatangawilds

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

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.