Like the last leaf from spring
hanging on into winter,
or prairie grasses overcoming
snow and ice,
life hangs on to a tenuous
thread and each day is a gift.
I watch the sun rise from
distant cold moving water.
White-capped waves emerge from the horizon
and over time they will arrive at my feet
standing on the rock strewn shoreline
covered in clear ice.
I imagine staying here through the passing months
when the deep winter takes hold of this
land and my body becomes one with the
water and the earth and from this
connection I am transformed back to
my birth state when I emerged from the horizon.
I now walk into your
arms, the words spoken
in passion, black wisps
of hair I brush away,
your eyes a light into the soul.
I now fall into your arms,
your breath against my neck,
I am vulnerable, exposed skin
waiting for your embrace,
I wait for you.
I walk into the wild,
the unknown territory
my heart longs for, the words
of freedom, swirling about,
motions in the air we reach
out to grasp, moments of
solitude, the chance to listen to
the wandering thoughts, the mind
Into the wild, the backcountry
of my mind, the thoughts behind
actions of the heart, the soul
reaching out, a voice not
heard, but felt though vibrations.
Deafening silence as the wild
expands the further I emerge into
the tundra, lost and wandering
I keep close your scent and soft touch
upon my chest, the slight pulse of your
veins coaxing my heart to keep going,
during moments of weakness, when
the winter sun rises briefly and hurriedly
sinks, the horizon thinning and the darkness
I walk into the suns light
the golden sheet cradling me
with eyes closed I see your smile
and the words spoken without hesitation
and I am overwhelmed with pureness,
the honesty, the unflinching eyes.
I walk into the swift Sushana
river, with ice floes and glacial till,
you are there somewhere near the base
of the mountains I can see from here,
the rolling shadows frigid.
And I awaken next to you under
the flaring aurora borealis,
the flashes of opaque green and deep red,
sedge and willow glow and reflect
off the pure snow.
A wanderer of the frozen lands,
I stopped at the edge.
A silence wrapped in wind
and ice scattered across
the valley and we took
shelter beneath overhanging rock.
In the morning after the fire
we hiked 7 days to the distant valley
steeped in legends of living spirits
and the black wolves guarding the way home.
Part one of “The Sea”. Part two should be up in a couple of days.
Across the sea of glass
an island of trees bending
heads bowed the sun does
not live here has not in years.
One tree is black not the
green you would expect
and it moves with the wind
and occasionally barks.
Cautious steps I begin
walking toward the island
an unknown distance but
I have long forgotten
about time and I have no
feeling or concept of where this is.
Daily observations from Lutsen, MN
Rocky shoreline, we walked
with Leroy following closely
behind, grows when the sun
sets and the superior water
becomes frozen and black.
Across the blackness there
is space, inhabited,
desolate, empty – except
today when I see each
stone and each snowflake.
Starlight from galaxies
is ancient, yet strong, flickers
across black ice, across
my child’s eye.
Away from the city we
revel in stars and constellations
we only see in textbooks and
through other’s eyes.
A video by Twisted Root Studios of fog racing across Lake Superior where it is -20 with spring-like sun.