Category: nature

My Land | Chapter III (day 1126)

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I remember when the wind blew so hard one year it would blow over our tin cups that weren’t full on the old weathered kitchen table. Our house was warm when the fire was hot, and well ventilated in the summer – we can say that. It ain’t easy being a pioneer, when the land is dry and winters are cold.

The thoughts drain my efforts, drain my life. They’re happy thoughts when you remember the past, but they’re also jagged edges that twist the time away like yesterday was my mothers hand.

There should be holes in my heart with all the bullets I’ve let go. And all the tears that I’ve cried.

This life makes a man hard before he knows how to sing. Like the twisting pines around these parts that I know each by name.

And firewood.

[note: to read the full epic track my land]

My Land | Chapter II (day 1125)

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It wasn’t long before I could see the dust kicked up in the distance from the pack I had been following. I knew they were hurt and could see it in their movement. They moved quick but I was moving quicker.

My long barrel could have taken them all there and then, and really it should have. I hadn’t time to be wastin’ away from the stead as I was.

I thought of simple things as I headed uphill; my fire stoked oven, hard chair, dust particles changing the hue of the room to match my lonely heart.

From here I knew a trail that tracked the edge of the ridge along the length of the valley. Before we were half way across I would be upon them with a vantage point to pick every single one of them off before they knew where I was. I was a fast shot, even with my long barrel.

I wondered how Tim and Casey Johnson were getting along, just East of my trail, just over the ridge. My trail ran North-South. I had come from the North and was heading South following this rogue pack of wolves that had taken two of my lambs. I was born a tracker, and these were my lands. The wolf was my birth sign, but my lambs were my right.

[note: to read the full epic track my land]

My Land | Chapter I (day 1124)

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There I would rush around the stone well, the little arch covering darkness and holding a squeaky bucket as it slips. I glide as the dog snarls, hovering just far enough away because it knows what’s good for it.

A deck chair squeaks back and forth like the broken weather vane whispering from the roof. I eye it slowly as sun peaks over my mystery horizon and look around for a glass to quench my thirst. Sometimes a savage I must be.

Small herds of livestock check their watches against the consistency of the grass, it’s not easy being a rambling herd. Especially in these dry times of year, especially with the river running so low.

My spurs rang through the air like the hot sun stung, not a soul around this dry place.

Cursing, I sat down at the weathered kitchen table; a hard seat and cold beans. A window and dusty particles distracting my angel heart, because I am here to love and the long coat isn’t my true calling.

I tracked like the Cheyenne, a good ghost. I could find a trail on a rock boulder. The wind spoke to me as it washed over the vista, and I was a good long shot.

[note: to read the full epic track my land]

A Chance to Be Faculty and Chief (day 1119)

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A valley, like my mind, may look empty on the inside – void of all that makes up matter. Void of all the mass that builds houses and factories and city roads and flower gardens and traffic jams.

For cannot this still matter? I am lost in a wasted land, and the fight challenges my patience along grated edges of wisdom.

Do you hear the sharp bells ringing? Is this the difference that is ringing, or has freedom finally called my name?

The sheath shall sadly fall apart, ragged from too much use like a cocktail napkin at a lipstick party. History shall not scream loudly here. This is not the bitter pages of a non-fiction picture book.

Here we have wrinkled tin garbage cans rolling lifelessly along unkempt lawns of former princes’, former glory holes that believed in a dream. A lifeless dream built on waste management systems and recycling plans.

So I cannot spoil my food anymore. My valley – running deep – is the chance to be faculty and chief. My valley is the early morning breath and the dying chances. My valley is the shortened season and the wilderness.

My valley is me, and I’ve begun to see.

Little Spoon (day 1118)

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I am the little spoon
That lives in the hill,
Scalloping hoodwinks
With masterful might.
An age old tradition
My father’s father told,
Forgiveness unheard to
Plant out my soul,
For I am the little spoon!
Happy lives fold.
Yet here I am
Amongst leftover pine,
A scraggly drain
In a dirty edged pond,
Mystery splashes
To my father’s better half,
Which I cannot explain anymore.
Which I ply with my little spoon.

Valley’s Echo (day 1113)

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Your heart is not a valley away,
Nor a diamond left unbought.
Though time discovers all our pain,
Lifting our sins to meet the eye,
To shatter history spent in plans.
To know is like a misspent truth;
To touch the wings of a butterfly;
To give up on the fight.
Where I’m left standing,
Yelling: “My heart is on my sleeve.”
Which I’m not here to wear,
I am here to give alone.
Where I hear the valley’s echo.

2013.08 - Mount Robson (61 of 496)

Liner Notes (day 1112)

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List me forever.
List me like giant trees
That skyscrape before me
In absolute synchronicity
With wild honey bees
Hovering deeply around me.
List me like a fowl’s thump;
Deep within me,
Light steps ahead of me.
List me like I’m off the wall,
Like I’ve been abandoned
And recycled
And re-crafted into love
So deep my eyes are shining blue.
List me cause I’ve got your name
Written on every page I’ve scribbled,
Inside the liner notes,
And circled with my blue pen.
List me
And I’ll step with you.