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Found a good sitting log while out on my snowshoes in the mountains, a quiet spot under a blue sky in a forest of pine,  Green Mountain’s top is in my sight line, Chinook wind blowing in, sun feeling warm on my face, it’s good too just stop in such a place, the snow sparkles with sunlight, wind caresses all that nature possesses,  it’s here for me and it’s free, as I sit on this old dead tree

Snowing lightly but nicely, stopping for a rest with a view of Caribou Ranch , sitting on a  snowy bench, Aspens highlighted with fresh powder, making the ski trail just right, and all alone, have it all to myself, the beauty and the wonder, and the quiet, it brings a peace, a feeling of peace, as I look around watching the flakes fly from the sky, seeing my tracks from where  I’ve gone on by and up ahead where I’m  about to go,  there are no tracks yet in that snow

It’s all here, as I sit on the side of a mountain in soft snow and pine needles where the sun has melted it bare, and the valley drops steep below me and rises across the way to a high mountain ridge, it’s all here as I lounge in a wild all alone in silence, in the solitude, it’s when the quiet comes, my mother would have said there’s nothing out here, but to me it’s all here

A fading season, I walk alone in its’ fading light, the crunch of leaves sounds just so right, there’s a stillness in the air around me, everywhere, I can almost hold it in my palm, brings an inner calm, it’s Autumn’s  dusk, it’s Winter’s dawn, on the fringes of bitter cold, like the fringes in an Aspens’ leaf,  the last of a season’s gold, as a chill wind starts to blow in, and snow clouds swallow the mountains

Feels like I’m walking with old friends, blue stem and switch and indian grass, I see them as I pass, under a sky blue, and they are my companions again as in my prairie past, I stretch out my arm, open my hand, and let the stems slip through my fingers, until at last, I take a seat on the land, take a spot on the earth, and like every other time, it feels like a rebirth

Not much of a ski, but a wonder just to stand and watch in a gently falling snow, with a scolding squirrel in the firs behind me, then a crow arrives with a cry and a coyote saunters by as the snow picks up its pace for a while, the flakes in my face make me happy to be in this place, and my thoughts turn to how I ski where moose browse, how I work where lions and bears walk, how I walk in summer among wildflower blooms, and how good it is just to pause and be grateful

Out in the late Autumn, where rising sunlight danced in the colors, now faded, out among the remains of summer, somewhat skeletal, yet all I see inspires me to look for a long cold night dreaming, milkweed pods have burst, the oaks now taking their turn to turn, I see late falling leaves in gusty winds, I see flakes in the sky, geese on the fly, and I wonder why it makes me want to cry, and though I don’t, with a sigh I watch them go by, then I look up to the mountains high still holding early snow, though, for now, it is gone here below

At Maya’s pond pondering, ducks winging, first flakes flinging, my heart singing, getting towards late October, up here it’s the verge of winter, just past Aspen gold, before the snow white cold, on a sitting log, clearing life’s fog, it’s hard to find the words to describe the feeling that comes in the wind with the first arrival of falling snow, but it’s a feeling of complete, and as the snow turns to sleet, I am aware of my body with its intimate pains, aware of my mind with its unseen strains, yet in the quiet solitude of this place nature made, for at least awhile, up here, they fade

I love when Aspen go 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, there’s a feeling in the chill, to me it’s a thrill, because I know it will not be long til snow comes around, 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 go to ground, when Aspen leaves fall 

I don’t know if I’m getting smarter, but one thing I know is I’m getting older whether the clouds come dark or the sun comes bright, and sometimes like now, as I just sit amidst the color of mid-September asters watching how the light slides across the day, I’m taken away, into the shadows of time where yesterday lies waiting for tomorrow,  where my weariness takes me by the hand and leads me to the quiet of now, to where I feel the strength in being alone and hear the music in my heart, and there I look for something I otherwise might not see