There was no moon at midnight
And my road was clambering on
I saw what appeared to be shadows
But from what direction I could not see the source
Nor could I understand their movement
For my breath was beating strongly
Inside my mind that couldn’t sit still.
They say whenever you’re lonely
To hug a tree in the woods,
That everything will be better
Once you listen to the wind through leaves.
But my footsteps weren’t taking me there
My trees were full of eyes
That growled when I got too close
My fire had died down to a whisper
Which danced away upon every breath
That beat so wildly inside.
I tried turning my back to the fire
So I could let my eyes adjust to darkness
Cold dampness swept into my chest
That left my fingers clinching at the dirt
I sat cross-legged on ash
That was surely trying to make it’s way
Up the inside of my leg
Like slowly crawling worms
With no direction home.
My fingers felt like dust
Long gone into a night with no end.
Slowly my eyes began to make out a hue of indigo
Through the trees that crept ever closer
With a faint scent of a silhouette
That began to sing me a song
Reminding me of Joan Baez singing acapella
Which always led me to Bob Dylan
And one of his nearly alarming harmonica solos.
Stars began to blink at me
Through gusting fog that sped
As fast as the dying harmonica sounds.
I could begin to see markings
Upon the bark of the nearest Douglas Fir trees
Bark so thick that my hands impulsively
Rubbed each other
Acutely feeling dusty skin on the back of my hands
As life began to seep back into them,
Shocked one too many times
From the dark night that lay behind.
I pulled my wool blanket closer
Remembering I am a warrior
I am made of two hard feet
That carry me on through a winding
Needle covered path
Weaving past lagoons and over boulders
Over roots and upon grass
Sometimes lost and always home
And rusty feathers settled beside me
Wishing me goodnight, so I fell asleep.
When I was a little lad
I can remember quite vividly
How I’d run around in wool:
Jackets, mittens, and a toque.
Rosy cheeks would rush between
Piles of raked leaves
Exploding as a shaggy dog may
Tongue half way to the ground.
I remember putting my nose
Pressed right to the ground,
Smelling dirt and grass
And observing in minute detail
Leaves turning from green to brown
Crackle them along veins
Once so vibrant, so alive, fresh
Now so similar to the dirt
Squished between my fingers.
Busy in the dizzying mirth
Of all such decay.
Here, I would stay,
Madly fascinated with stacked flower pots
Textures of clay now everywhere!
From where did they come?
Every Autumn was fun,
Chopped logs and canning jars,
Hockey sticks and Halloween,
Snow banks and toboggan pulls.
I can remember the dying sun.
Can you make this wind so calm?
Eyes become lost amidst time,
Fall whithers deep beneath frozen soil
In an exhale from sweet Gaia youth.
Hands beneath a wool fleeced warmth
Trace aged and soggy wooden trusses
To ground all paths sturdy,
Placing soil-meet-water underneath
Obstructions aging gracefully,
Silhouetting a vista worn on the sleeve
At fogs deepest moment, neigh.
I wear my vintage sweaters everywhere
They make me feel hip
Like Patti Smith mixed with Albert Collins
Kind of cool to the bone cat
It’s convenient because when it’s cold
I’ve got protection
Layered into vintage wools
And historic oranges
I used to care more about the holes
But now they’re marked with untold stories
Some days, if I’m feeling adventurous
I’ll make stories to fill them up
But mostly I just like the smell
Curling around me and calling me theirs
And the girls dig them
Especially when it’s cold out
When snow falls hearts gather around the hearth,
Grabbing softly at the cackling pine
Delicately stashed inside the burning pit.
Mesmerized by the dance within, and out.
Here, lights take on a softer glow.
Cold outside carries an earthy fragrance
That tucks itself neatly into corners
Of windows that slowly freeze
Then, from mind we slowly remember
Budding spring uncurling it’s frozen fingers
As green sprouts celebrate daylight sun.
Softness takes long strides out into fresh air.
From this perch, stretched along the couch
Wool blanket helping hold fires heat within,
Tranquil spreads easily inside
These heavy walls flickering me to sleep.