Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for August, 2016

IMG_4724 (1)
Silence is never silent:
summer wind
rattles the doors
with oncoming
sound of afternoon thunder.
My dog
sleeps a deep
slumber
unmoved
by the tink tink
of my laptop,
or the curtains
swirling
song.
These winds
are as predictable
as the march
of time –
I close my eyes
so tired
from the wide open space,
the onslaught
of so much beauty
and color
exhausted
from drinking in
the endless
night sky
glowing
planets
shooting stars
clusters of bursting light.
At this heightIMG_1572
the air is dry
and brittle,
cutting
grooves
in my tired skin.
Yet,
my lungs
fill like the clouds
in the afternoon sky
warm –
I imagine them in my mind’s eye
pink and light
content
drinking in
the purest
thinnest
most exquisite air.

With my eyes closed
tight
I can still see
the great horned owl
winging
by the road
in the night sky
under the car’s light
intent
on small
comical
deer mice:
long snout,
big eyes
huge ears:
clowns of the prairie.

Sometimes,
I have to stop
dead in my tracks
and notice
because
if I don’t
it will be all too soon
too late:
too late
for thoughts
dreams
words
deeds undone,
all too soon
regrets.
I close my eyes
like
prayer
there in the dark
I see the unspoken
the gesture
graceless
fallen
till way too late.

The wind reminds me
days
move
beyond any landscape
past many years,
centuries
even,
to the same
quiet
sigh.IMG_0624

I want to die with no regrets
on a day like this
when the wind
sings so loud
the hair
on my dog’s neck
turns
from brown to grey
in the blink of an eye
in the flight an owl
in the song of the meadowlark
in the dull thump
of elk storming down the valley.
I want to stand
with my eyes closed
on top of this mountain
and whisper
to the furthest stars
“ I have not wasted my life.”

Read Full Post »

(for Melanie – she loves them too)

 

Up here at 6,000 feet
all creatures
forge their journeysIMG_0624
against the thin air
and ceaseless winds.

In summer,
tiny
calliope
beats
furiously
60 strokes
per second
to savor
sweet nectar
from golden columbine, Red-tailed_Hawk_l07-52-061_l
while in the high drifts
harrier hawks
scan the prairie
for deer mice
foraging in the wild
grasses
where meadowlarks
greet the sun
with their sweet song.

In spring,
creatures,
large and small
awaken
migrate:
the elk,
molting
heads down
hoofing
crevices
in the ravine
spilling rocks
rousing
sleeping
pika,
their mouths
still too dry
to sound
a shrill alarm.

By the river,
geese begin to land
in neat pairs
they pad
moist
muddy soil
and
adorn
greening
rushes
with down.

Winter
 quiets
the land,
silencing
all butIMG_7271
the ravens.
Beneath
white
sleep
many:
ground squirrels
muskrats
marmots.
In caves,
bear
snouts curled
to tail,
hearts
beating
long and slow
like the wind

But it’s in the summer
when
days lengthen
into starry skies
that abundance
fills these mountains.
Coyotes
bark
in pre-dawn light,
antelope roam
the bench
easy to spot
in dry sage
and the “whistle pigs”
stand brash
on mounds of dirt
daring
which brings
the snow.
red tailed hawks
to fly low.

I’ve seen osprey
battle bald eagle
over trout
diving
and
dipping
wings wide
till one drops
its hard won
feast.
Sand hill cranes
walk
wings wide
along
meandering
streams
high
in the valley
cooling
their
tall
awkward bodiesIMG_1293
beaks
sharp
head
splashed
red
leading
their
bobbing
march.

Summer brings
all visitors
wanted or not –
the errant
little brown
bat
flying
through the open
night
door
sonar
confused
squeaking,
but less
than I …..

One year
deer mice
peered
brown heads
from neath
the stove
burners
all
in unison
as if in
a slow motion
cartoon
I vaguely
recalled
from
childhood.
I laughed
so loud
I scared myself….

Down by the river
late tonight
I watched
dragon flies
dip
in edges
of splashing
waves
rainbow
wings
golden
sheen
translucent
against
this forever light.

But it’s
in my heart
I see
them
great
and
small.

Read Full Post »