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There is a Redtailed hawk that frequents the fields behind where I live, and most often perches in a Cottonwood tree.  The photo posted here is of that hawk in that cottonwood. I have come to refer to this hawk as my cottonwood hawk.  I think of it as I wander in the Flint Hills and it inspired these words. I share them today, for my Dad, who is here visiting with me.

 

Fly, my cottonwood hawk, fly

High above bird nest in sunflower stalk

Above coyotes sleeping in deep prairie grass, that stir and run as I pass

Rise on a south wind wings twirling, over my little fire, flame swirling

above owl roosting in dead tree, fly, my cottonwood hawk, fly free

Soar into cold east wind, sound your cry over tall bur oak

Over whitetail deer hiding near, fly into flake filled air

Over fresh fallen snow, see me walking there below

Creature bound to earth, you a creature of the sky from birth

Take me with you when you depart, even if only in my heart

Fly, my cottonwood hawk, fly

 

 

 

 

 

 

Homewoods

I look behind, I see myself, a boy of fifteen, on a forest rise, just to sit, not thinking, there, just to be there, all alone, in silence, yet connected to the life around him, and within, soft, at peace, at home, in his homewoods. I see a boy grow up, as woodland streams, and young dreams flow together, between hills and wills, curving, swerving, shaping. He follows a dream that leads away, far, far away from home to where the wildebeest and buffalo roam, as leaves turn green, leaves turn brown and fall to the ground, and the world turns round and round. Miles and smiles and years go by, and fear that brought tears, while this stand of trees has stood, ever changing, yet remaining in this place til one day I return and see a boy who has grown til he has gotten to be sixty. And as I return to these homewoods they seem to ask, how did it go out there? Did your dream survive? Is it still alive? Did you end the hunger of children far from here?

And then simply they say, we are still here, here is where we stay, while you are away.

 

Glenn Thomas Fell

June 25, 2015

Bison In The Light

Bison in the light, as day turns into night

And the silent solitude of prairie hills, that soothes my human ills

Descends, bringing here a peace on earth, near the time when so many celebrate a divine birth

And I take a seat on high ground, in brown prairie grass and look all around

The sky splattered with graying cloud, valleys fading away into evening’s falling shroud

Bison now just small dark dots … wounded lives find healing in such spots

I feel my soul touching something, something spirit, something whole

A tear wells up, but don’t quite flow, a joys swells up, I am humbled to know

Pardon me if I am wrong, cuz this feeling is just oh so strong

But I think I am simply feeling life, uncontaminated by man-made strife

 

December Fire

December fire,

Just before dawn, throws warmth my way,

Burning wood crackles, spark and ash fly,

Orange and blue, the fire’s hue,

Smoke twisting, drifting, shifting,

Morning arrives, pink in the sky,

December fires burns a hole in time,

Creates a hidden space, to sit,

Away from the rushing race of work and mind,

A stop spot to savor my journey,

Aware life is all around and in me.

 

It is winter break from teaching school. An annual season for me to have time to sit by a fire in my backyard, on a week day, as the world around me rushes on with work and life.  It is a privilege I have to be able to just observe and listen in nature. It is healthy.  It is unfortunate more are not afforded this privilege, perhaps it should be a right. Life is a journey diminished  when rushed. Life is best lived savored.

Waiting For Night To Pass

Waiting out night, wind blowing,

moon sits over pines in predawn glow,

elegance of silence, poise of solitude, gentle noise,

sunlight touching highest clouds,

shaking off nights’ dark, earth spins in space,

turning me to face the sun’s rise,

night’s grip dies, my gaze follows mountain curves,

sun touching ridge tops steep, I breathe deep,

standing at mountain lakes’ edge,

walking in soft meadow grass, no longer waiting for night to pass.

Echo Lake, Colorado

June, 2015

 

I am in a wild, a wild is in me,

I sit in a woodland, a woodland sits in me,

Oaks light up in the sun, branches bare, winter coming on,

White bark of a sycamore, pretty blue sky,

The trees are so resident, living life in one spot,

A feel of early morning, three hours past sunrise,

A last leaf falls, a spider crawls, across my pants leg,

Feels good to sit after running, on a prairie soft, the roll of gentle hills,

Running through a prairie, a prairie running through me,

The trees welcome me back, where they remain, living and giving life,

I get a fire going, it burns beside me and in me, pleasing smoke rises,

I am in a wild, a wild is in me.

 

Glenn Thomas Fell at Allegawaho Park, December 11, 2015

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lean Back

Lean back on a dead log into the trunk of a cottonwood

Look up, through bare branches into a deep blue sky

Lean back on a sloping slab of smooth limestone

Look up into bluestem and blue sky, don’t ask why

Lean back, into a wild, into yourself

Ease your mind, chill your body, warm your heart

Find a wonder, listen, breathe in silence

Be you, all alone, look up, look in, feel the earth spin

enjoy the ride, lean back

Glenn Thomas Fell, December 7, 2015

 

 

Brisk morning northwest breeze, sun rising in a clear blue southeast sky,

I run straight up a hill, straight into the sun,

Acorns under my feet, acorns overhead,

Light touches the branch tips on tree tops and prairie grasses on hill tops,

I listen to the trees and the sky,

They are always kind and gentle,

Then I run under red cedars and past wild plum thickets,

Up another hill by a pond where geese sit upon it

I see a last leaf falling, my breathing is deep,

And I realize I feel alive

 

 

Last Leaf

The last leaf, the very last leaf,

Falls in a kind of twisting almost float,

As I sit on my sitting log, and ponder life out of the boat,

 The last leaf, built of last summer’s sun,

It’s a shade of wonder to think,

that of all the leaves that fell this Fall, this is the last one,

And as this last leaf, in total silence, gracefully falls,

The silence gets very, very loud, and the voice of the leaf clearly calls,

 Don’t come to this place, to sit in this space,

With or for a purpose, with some driven inner need,

Even though you have an oozing emotional bleed,

Just come here, to be, like me,

A last leaf falling from a tree

 

Glenn Thomas Fell

December 2008

 

 

 

Seven Geese Rise

Seven geese rise, I lift my eyes,

As they fly into a dark blue sky,

Then I run,

Into a rising sun, down a deer path through trees,

To a bluff with a wonder of a breeze,

And I sit,

Where the creek makes a curve,

Not to think, just observe,

And to listen, as ripples in the sunlight glisten.