Author: wapatangawilds

Across a bridge, I went for a walk in a snowy forest of evergreen and white, flakes lying in the conifer needles a winter delight, and as l wandered, walking through this space, wondering at the unavoidable beauty of this place, I mused about how when I was young, I would run, not minding the cold in wind-driven falling snow, now I’m slow, older and colder, but I still connect to the solitude and silence, I stop more to sit, to breathe out, breathe in, calm my spin, I stop thinking, only observing and listening, in a wild, away from human thundering 

There’s a little Aspen grove I know that’s always a good place to go,  when the leaves are young and green with a Spring sheen or when they are old in the Fall and turning gold, or in winter when the branches are bare and the leaves are on the ground under a blanket of snow, there’s a calm waiting there to hold me, resting there beneath each tree, holds me in an embrace, it’s that kind of place, the kind of place where I can feel hidden, when I carry the care of a load unbidden, when I’ve had a moment or more of not good, it helps to come here to let it go in the solitude and beauty of this silent wood. 

Sitting on the ground in the shadow of a spruce trunk,  leaning against the strength, liking where I’ve landed, realizing how much I needed to slow down, take a break from the agenda, make a stop not on the schedule, hear a turkey gobble, and hope I get to see it, but when I do not, be okay, not moving, letting the motion of the planet itself be enough for me, for a while, and I can in fact see that motion, as I notice the shadow has shifted as I’ve been here sitting still, I shift just a bit to the right, with it, and the primary motion I feel now is emotion, feel like I want to cry, seems my mind is always on what I need to do next, so I’m thinking I need to make more stops, with intention.

Sitting on the planet spinning, another day just beginning, this morning it feels like the mountains will never end and they will always be my friend, and it’s wildflowers I treasure, bring me something beyond measure, I hope my grandsons will remember Grandpa’s favorite what is it, and come to visit, when I’m gone, and then I ponder, I wonder, if a star, like the sun that’s been rising can die, in the great  expanse of the universe, who am I? And the reply is one that sets me free, the answer is the stars are in me. 

This morning I saw a wonder, I saw a wonder of wildflowers free and blooming, springing, and it caused me to wonder, wonder what it’s like to be really free, to feel really free, and it seemed to me to be free, to feel free, I at least have to happy to be me.

I’m just a man knocking on seventy, shoeing in a snowy scene, making the most of mountain majesty, walking in a cottonwood wonder, by a rapid river, in a wildflower field, pondering a prairie’s power, seeing sites that speak to my spirit, it has me thinking about where I’ve been, where I’m going with whatever time I got left, I’m just an old man seeking seventy, seems like I can take all the years in the palm of my hand and just blow them away, some a hard one, some of them fun, all of them done

I love when the Aspen goes to ground, when the Aspen leaves fall, I see leaves yellow twirling in a breezy air, sometimes they are all around, the breeze takes a pause, and so do I, I sit back, lean against an Aspen, a cloud blocks the sun, I feel a chill, I sit still, the air moves, the leaves shake, clatter, a coyote saunters by, nose to the sky, a solitary leaf drops, I hear birds chatter, tall pines crowd a nearby  ridge, I take it all in, pondering the colors, the change that’s occurring, the change that’s coming, last daisies in bloom, I want to come back here when the snow lies deep, I hope I can, but I don’t want to assume, most of all, I hope I  will be able to recall how I feel when Aspen goes to ground, when Aspen leaves fall  

Spring arrives, the mountains shrug it off, I do too, there is still snow along the stream, something to save for a dream, aspen bark is soft in color, evergreen fir soft in needle, and then the sky darkens and the snow begins to fall, fine flakes and thick, feels like a shroud, and I realize as long the wind blows, as long as the sky snows, I will want to be up here, free.

Snow is in the wind, I feel anticipation grow, not today, not tomorrow, but in three days to the mountains I will go, and when I get there, in that first moment when I first see flakes swirling in the air, a shiver of relief will move through me, from head to toe, that’s why I go, and to wander alone in the wonder, a child of the wild, following the call, loving it all.

Sitting in a March snow, on pine needles, fine granular wet flakes sifting straight down, feels cold, damp, and I love it, leaning against a pine trunk, nothing moving except the falling flakes, a crow calls out across the mountain valley, hidden in a fog, the silence is important to me, the solitude has value to me, it connects me to who I am, who I have always been, it brings me that awareness that I am alive, breathing, at the end of life I don’t know if it will matter, but it matters to me now.