Today has the beginnings
To be a day to recon with
A soul leaves town
On two heavy shoulders
A sun rises easily
With abiding glory
The slow bustle
Of morning traffic
Slowly trickles along
The long sweeping streets
Easily focusing
On the ritualistic humming
That passes my window
Every moment, every day
Category: nature
A Cold Embrace (day 108)
A half moon arcs
Swaying deeply in the dark lit sky
Perhaps it realizes
How high it seems to fly
Never alone
Always sharing those moments of hanging
With all the souls
Shivering in the shade glowing
Peace (day 104)
A peace fell over
The laundered land
Streaked with turmoil
And sun dried rain
Dust rolled
Laundry lines sagged
But blew fruitless
Like weather over land
3 Spots on a Log (day 101)
The log has a spot
And the spot has three dots
3 dots made just for fun
And in all this fun
As the sun it did come
It washed all the evidence away
Search for Peace (day 100)
I gaze upon this open lake
Gleaming as if shear glass
A log drifting nearer
From some distant bank
Moving, yet not at all that fast
Jumping, randomly, in unannounced grace
The fish seem to be feeding
While my eyes keep focusing
On the mountains that face me
For their touched by the setting sun
A mother, and two kids
Test the cold water
Asking many questions in the patter
I sit here cross legged
On two washed up logs
Behind me a squirrel does a dance
Three feet away, we look at each other
And share this moment in time
However I put it
He knows that I’m here
And the kids keep wandering nearer
The squirrel has got scared
The sun falls further
And I now hear distant trucks traveling
The beach is covered
With various sized rocks
Some one might call boulders
Others they are ground
Into a size
Fairly similar to the size of sand
Driftwood is here
Remains of human is here
And oddly enough, in this lake far away
From any sea, ocean, or salt
I find flying low
Along the banks
Dozens of white and gray seagulls
Gathered
In close knit quarters
Around the base of an emptying river
Perhaps they hold claim
To the butchered remains
Of the feast of some giant grizzly
Only one thing remains
And that is his name
For I have yet to witness
This beast of an animal
I’ve seen overturned rocks
Ideal fishing spots
Still, one shy ol’ bear
Now on to my side
The side left unburnt
Sit three long and slender rocks
They sit on the log
The same log that I’ve chosen
All laid out in a row
I can’t help but wonder
Which marvelous creature
Has decided to leave them hither
For me, I am beaten
A child of teen years perhaps?
Whoever it be, they’re safe with me
As I sit here and spy a lone albatross
The mountains over yonder
I’ve noticed as of now
Have in them a slight tinge of red
I think to myself
That it must be that beetle
That swept through this province
And further to the East (Oh Alberta)
Was it spruce?
Was it Pine?
Was it all those combined?
I wonder what shall come of these cliffs
My squirrel I do miss
I can see jumping fish
Smell burning wood
A golden array
A loon too has joined me
In my search here for peace
[alternate ending: This is the end to a marvelous day!]
Cedars (day 95)
The cedar here are calm
They speak only in whispers
Through their green locks; hang nearly to ground
They wave in the wind
Not like the other trees do
But with a lazy shimmering in the air
Logging (day 91)
Decisive
Witty
We spot the green slopes of grass
Littering the hills
Across the valley
Where no road of cement does roam
Global directives
Seem to explain
The scars we do place on our earth
In time
However
The roots we plant forgive
Beach (day 85)
Willows blow
Sand is moved
Gulls scavenge
BBQ smokes
And I join
Friends around
Summer grass
A beach fest
Pilgrim (day 80)
Roaming the badlands for a wondrous find
Of golden parades, or simple disdain
Like a bad weather tragedy
Or a day that’s lasted too long
It’s a drought, holding back the tears
It’s a fight that’s punctured my ears
Cooly raising a rusty can into the air
Filled with spit of ten thousand years
Cornered like a rat scared by a straw broom
Fighting like a skunk, dirty’s the only way
But zen fills the room like an omnipresent colour
Inducing the pilgrims into a fury they’ve only remembered
Remembering a love for the open road
A love for the old willow tree
When wagons had wheels made of wood
The gun spoke the law, the buffalo roamed free
And the peace was the mind
As the tumbleweed spun webs
Roaming the badlands for a wondrous find
Journey South (day 79)
Beautiful bushes
Cruise by the sidelines
In a backwards sprint
Leaving impressions
Of fussy comforters
One could imagine
Dodging with an engine
And tires that dug dirt
But alas,
I speed on by
In my four wheeled box
Wondering away
About the fluffy decay