in winter stillness
ancient aspens watch
a chickadee flitting past
feathered music
bouncing
over infinite blue
alone
atop the buried meadow
a man paused
turned
looked back at the trampled snow
the trail of footsteps
each print a shadowed testament
to sweat falling from his brow
all he could see was white
reflected memories in a sea of snow
light’s harsh truth
stinging weary eyes
a deep sigh
a gasp of icy air
a hesitation in the heartbeat of being
most think the challenge of climbing mountains
is reaching the top
sweating
aching
heart pounding
pushing past fear
step by step
to finally stand victorious
in the rare air
above the clouds of ordinary being
surrounded by distant views
of unclaimed summits
but
with each descending step
the real work begins
returning to the valley of everyday existence
the spirit begins to shrink
atrophy
for it can no longer be fed
by ordinary life
the real challenge of climbing mountains
is never surrendering the summits of our dreams
to stand alone
bold and free
with only mountaintops
for company
rocketing through a cacti forest
past towering sentinels frozen in moonlight
night air and music blasting through the cockpit
singing with Cat Stevens
Riding on the peace train
I’m speeding into wildness at 3 a.m.
crossing into the unknown
road tripping
on the loose
Fall has called me forth
to a season for adventuring
ghosting through the morning mist
as day slides from gray to gold
I’m pulled by hunger into a small cafe
cradling a warm coffee cup
I spy the famished hiker beside me
demolishing a plate full of pancakes
he turns and smiles
Fall is freedom
the work is done, the harvest in
I’m on the road again
mornings are cool now
Fall brings a sharpened awareness
a time to wipe fog from my glasses
as growing sunlight melts shadows from the river
cold water swirls about my shivering thighs
I cast to a distant riffle
the line lays out softly
the fly disappears in a splash
lost in the sweet perfume of pine sap
following a dusty trail of memories
the buzz below me sounds familiar
Jeez!
Damn! Helluva rattlesnake!
all those blue highways
all those maps, long before GPS
all those little country stores
all those stops to buy a soda, asking directions
where the heck is Boggan’s Oasis?
and the magic of those unexpected moments
chasing wild horses through a sea of purple sage
eyeing eagles falling from heaven in their mating aerobatics
cresting a final ridge to discover Shangri-La
an azure lake sparkling in an alpine meadow
immersed
alone
in a hot springs pool
steam rising into nothingness
feeling forever in all directions
soul steeped in gratitude
as sky slips from gold
to pink
to gone
I will not travel these roads again
but they will haunt my heart when
once again
Fall calls the vagabond
to a season for adventuring
in the blackness of eternal night
I wonder what we might have been
had fate not gulped us whole
what roads would have called us on
what waves swept us to other lands
what mountains echoed with our joy
what babies cooed, what friends cajoled
what rainbows chased
what dreams
had fate not gulped us whole
and yet, in soul’s silence
as I hold her hand so soft and still
I know peace
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
Rudyard Kipling, 1895
Source: A Choice of Kipling’s Verse (1943)
When I’m down and feeling sorry for myself, “If” is one of the poems I return to for inspiration. Here are YouTube links to great readings of this poem, the first by Holly Musgrove, the second by Sir Michael Caine-
once
my life was a never ending to do list
every minute, every hour, every day
riding the nowhere train
always something to be done
another meeting, another deadline, another promise to keep
the notion of a nap was a faraway fantasy
then
I jumped off-
now
today’s calendar is blank
an empty page
uncluttered, unfettered, unpromised
the delicious bliss of nothingness
what to do on this sumptuously lazy afternoon
the easy chair beckons
a deep breath, a sigh, a shuttering of eyes
red
it’s the color of summer
fragrant red roses dancing in the breeze
luscious red tomatoes clinging to the vine
bright red ketchup spurting from a hotdog bun
sweet red watermelon juice dripping down my face
a spoonful of ripe red strawberries oozing over vanilla ice cream
deep red cherry pie
a ruby red kiss at sunset
ouch!
painful red sunburn
which is why I’m inside writing about Summer
instead of outside enjoying it
