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It is the first snow of the season, on the last day of the year, a flake floats in the air, a flake floats into my hair, I walk in the falling, among the aspen I find delight, and as the ground becomes white, I watch a flake fall on my hand, and I am loving this land, even though I know it cannot be, that it will ever love me

A nest in time, where I can rest, in nature’s sublime, alone, alive, in a time when falling flakes do their part to calm and fill my heart, they fall in this space, at such a leisurely pace, a frozen flurry in no hurry, I lean against a tree, so I can better see, a snowy dream above a mountain stream

To be the only one sitting on a fallen log, on a mountainside, in an evergreen forest of spruce and pine, in the wind, in the solitude, not looking for solutions, or conclusions, a chill in the air, among boulders and lichen in the shade, sun shining on patches of grass and dead wildflower stems, snowcapped peaks in the distance, scuffed with clouds, just here for the pause

I will go to find a wild, go to find my child, go to where the mountains lift me, to where the snowy winds drift me, into the timelessness of nature’s embrace, in the solitude of a wilderness space, feeling that earthly touch, I love so much

Into a wild, on a pine cone covered trail, early, when the colors are still pale, the canyon long, feeling strong, to run, a day begun, to hike, into the trees I so like, greeting a spruce blue, how are you, a swarm of firs, my heart stirs, doing some thing, while doing no thing, a stretch up and over a rock, no talk, stop, stand, blink, no think, focus on what I feel, in the quiet of the real

Looking for Aspen in the mountain air, standing on the edge of Fall, standing on the edge of Aspen, standing on the edge of mountains that next will be full of snow, but we are always at the edge, always in between life and death, always in between past and the future, always there’s something waiting around the next bend, we are always standing or sitting in the moment, yet, aware time is moving, we can’t stay there, still, for this moment, I stand in the Aspen and at the mountains stare

In the stillness, in the Spring, by the snow, that has yet to go, in the quiet sitting, accepting what life is permitting, looking out at valleys rolling green, silent and serene, watching a deer bound up a ridgetop, almost making my heart stop, high peaked mountains in the distance, speak to me with insistence, saying breathe it in, join in, ride the earth’s spin, forget your clock, lean back against a rock, feel the steadiness in the trees, enjoy the air in the breeze

I’ve come to a stop spot, in early October, with the sound of cricket song, through bluestem seedheads waving in a breeze, through sunlight shining in the colors of the grasses and leaves of shrubs, through aspenglow, to the last blooms of the season, to asters, to a moment, to a stop, to a feeling of being alive, to a gentility, serenity, a place to sit, to look, to listen, to feel hidden, to an awareness I am breathing, to this one place, I am here

Walking through bluestem in August. Sitting in tall grass in high prairie hills. Sun turning hot. But it’s almost September. Away from the road. Away from the clamor. Alone in the splendor. Crickets are in song. I am where I feel I belong. I came here on purpose but with no agenda. Just knowing where I wanted to be. I feel a sigh of relief breathe out of my body. I’m looking at a crooked stem of tall bluestem and it fascinates me though I don’t know why, maybe because it’s not like all the others. Colors of the stems draw my attention, a mix of red and purple amongst the green. There are sprigs of sage going to seed and the brightness of blazing star and yellow globes of broomweed. And there’s little bluestem and blue grama too. Grassy valleys unfold before me, and behind me rise mountains aglow in the rising sun. 

Nature is a kind of infinity. It stretches back in time into the distant past and on into future tomorrows, stars are born, stars die, over eons and eons of time nature goes on even after solar systems are gone. So, in that context what is one human life lived on earth? Is it like a flower that blooms and then fades? What I know is when out in nature I don’t look to find myself, or who I am though I have heard some say that is what they do. I know it is a common thing for humans to search to find who they are. But I have realized, at least when I am out in nature and alone, for me anyway, it doesn’t matter who I am. In that realization there is a letting go of the human search for who I am, and in that letting go I find freedom. I find peace and solace.