Though the earth accepts my footfalls
Offers bedrock for my foundations
The moving sky
Holds my fascination
Source of dreamy possibility
Though the earth accepts my footfalls
Offers bedrock for my foundations
The moving sky
Holds my fascination
Source of dreamy possibility
Sky and lake
Rippled with moonlight
Clouds a veil
Drawn over coy constellations
On the shore
She stands
In a susurrus of near silence
But for the lap of wavelets
On salt crusted sand
Intent on the texts
Passed between friends
“I am free” she writes
“Good” comes the reply
A pause, and then, “Be safe!”
“I will” she taps out
Adds “I don’t know how long
I’ll be AWOL”
A long wait before
“Your leave is authorized” and
“Take all the time you need”
“I will” she repeats
She smiles
Throws the phone into the lake
Where concentric ripples
Interrupt the linear
Gradually diminishing
Until they disappear altogether
She stands a good while longer
Content
Relieved
If a little anxious
About what the coming daylight will bring
Then shrugs it off
“Fuck him”
Hours before the dawn
The darkness has already ended
A few steps beyond
My car parked at the trailhead
The day falls away
A tumult of stone
Fallen amongst the grasses
From ragged cliffs above
Ancient diminished crags
Once, perhaps, grand as snow capped horizon
First to soil, then to life, feeding hungry bison
Salted inner sea
Perturbed not at all
By even a breeze
Offers its peaceful cradle
To the failing sun
The air
Briny scent of death
The water
Still, thick with salt
The sand
Crusted, brittle, shards sharp underfoot
But the skies
Azure brushed with cirrus wash
And the sun
A hot glitter off the ripples
A beach day
Nonetheless
Sunlight skitters
Off the rippled lake
As a flat stone thrown
From a practiced hand
I prefer the kind of spirituality
Which harbours no intention
To make me feel small
Or subject to the judgment of others
Not even gods
Just as I have no desire
To judge anyone
Not even myself
A condition
Which I am ever on the path
Of unlearning
An expanse of green
And brown beyond
Soon again to be green
Above
A sky
Promising the gift of rain
A smattering of structures
For shelter, work and storage
All to service the green
Occupants come and go
Seasons of family
And movement
Change
The cycle of life
Plays out in a rural field
Far from city markets