Ode to a Pine (day 2281)

Needles so long and fragrant that
You set into my dreams
And close around my open spaces
With essence of the forest.
I notice that your feet are so
Sandy, enjoying the soil
I’d like to join you, kick back, relax
Grow so strong and freely here.
I shan’t be quick to cut you down
I shall resist unto the end
So that your life outlives my own
Respecting one another’s deep wisdom.

Twisting Trail (day 2127)

Papa could’ve been another type of man
Like a raindrop could be caught in a hand
Let another letter slip through the mail
Gone again gone again as heat prevails.

“A little gone,” says the better man
Couldn’t you have just set it right: a plan
I said goodbye into a dusty pan
Held it close as I looked inside.

When the needles dropped upon the forest floor
Little birds gathered all around
Snowdrops sprouted into the sky
And the trail twisted on.

Moon at Midnight – Part IV (day 1978)

(part III)

As I sat crosslegged in the little clearing
Hidden as I was, deep within the forest
Heading East to the land of the Old People
I wondered about the faces I might see,
Faces of the men and women who would greet me,
Faces of the children playing in fields
And fields growing with the vigor
Only well cared for fields of tender hands can grow
I knew I would find
In the land of the Old People.

Beside me was a little patch of buttercups
That skirted the edge of deeper forest
Fallen logs and fir needles of this land
I could still hear the brook I had crossed
Calmly gurgling in the distance
My canteen still cold from its fill
My belly still churning from its fill
My fingers still wet and a cold
Only fresh mountain water can give,
A cleaning happily taken
Where I had let my bare feet soak gently a while.

My eyes scanned into the forest
Of an age I guessed ageless
Not a stump to be seen
Finding geometry in naturally fallen trees
Trees standing so tall my guess couldn’t reach
Moss covering so gently
I envisioned the industry nestled
Deep within the safety net of moss
That lay about thickly covered forest floor
Fungus’ mycelia layer hidden well
In healthy circles around the Ancient Giants
Old Man’s Beard hanging low
And spider webs zig-zagging
With its delicate fibers of care.

My pouch was always on me
No matter how far from camp I wandered
So as I moved away from my opening
I felt instinctively for my tools
Stepping over former soldiers
Rotting as life continued its circle
Through the efforts of decay
My soft crunch avoided the mounds
Finding edible mushrooms was easy
This early season of harvest
Upon edges of clearings I’d find strawberries
And blueberries and salmonberry brambles
So thick I’d get high
Feeding so heartily on such sugar
I knew it wouldn’t stay forever.

Fire starting was an economy no man could do without
No sane man that is,
For plenty of nights I’d been cold
In pure darkness of deep night,
But this night I had supple moss
And accessible wood dry enough to start
A warming dance in my blood
Soon the coals were hotter then the wood
That burned inside their whispers

My bed was simply a roll
The hard ground was something I was used to
I carried soft fur of a bear
On the top of my bag
Which I’d lay under my roll
To soften each night’s cold
My dream of a sheepskin
I had read about in books
Of old foreign herdsmen roaming
Highlands of Scotland
But I with my simple roll
Laid out on the ground.

part V

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Autumn Meadow (day 1957)

As Autumn turns it’s leaves loose
Winds speak colder upon my brow,
Footsteps crackle amidst ripened grass
And needles lay their pointed lips
Upon a hungry slugs slime.
But look, just there!
A toadstool sticks its neck out
Searching the air for sticky sweet moisture
To sporulate, propagate.
How richness exudes from dampened bark!
How heavy air cools thy heavy breath.
And maple leaves, the biggest leaves,
Lay down, carpeting the meadow safe.

Forest Trail (day 1870)

Did you ever wander lonely
At a path about the forest
Where squirrels chirp
And fly’s buzz
About and around your presence?
For in the path,
And on the trail
There is silence before you come
A silence that lasts like inhaled breath
And breaks soon enough again.
And on this path where needles fall
Flora grows as wild as wild can be
Blossoms at different times
Spring out to say hello.
Now, if your lucky as a rabbit can be
Some fauna will browse your way
About its trail,
Upon its way
From whence I’ll never know
And likely never see,
In spite exploring
In spite discovering
In spite the many paths one takes
There’s always another
Always a corner
Left for another day.

Mother Earth’s Frosted Tongue (day 657)

A path
Littered with needles
Fallen lightly down
In cool winter’s breeze
Glares white

Long blue shadows
Battling footprints
This way and that
Taking me further
Into dreams of thought
With a steady breath

Dancing lightly
On stray beams
Of winter’s enemy
Sunlight, in warmth
Brings me home
Dusted with kisses
From Mother Earth’s
Frosted tongue

Prince George Trails - 20130204 (15 of 21)

And Peace and Trees (day 600)

Alone in the bush
I continue
With plans in my head
That smile
I step over needles
And cry
Fill up my basket
That weighs
Of burden and memories
But I
Step to the side
And put
My soul into knees
To feed
Life I live
With health
Of strength from battle
I grow
Deep rooted tree
To fall
Upon hands of a maiden
And laugh
Until my eyes weep no more
Sunshine
Fills up my soul
No more
Do I share tears with this earth
Now just
A love that has peace with itself
And smiles