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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.

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.