When this life’s pace and chaos
become too much I know where I can turn.

I return to my roots,
I return to the empty fields.

Here is a clean slate waiting
for the mind to create.

They offer possibilities,
an endless space to chase and capture dreams.

This is where the mind can exist
without limitations or boundaries.

This is home.

Shifting through photos
I feel no connection, no recognition
to the person with time and years
ahead of them, looking to the future.

Pausing at one in particular in the midst of summer,
oak leaves burning with white light,
the sun slowly fading into the horizon
behind the hill at the street’s end.

What was etched into the mind
when the image became a permanent
moment tossed into a shoe box?
What was the last thought defining that moment?

Years will pass and that young face
will undergo an outward expression
of the strife, agony, depression, and final transformation
built upon the experiences, cast from the struggle.

In time what we are in this life
circles back to the foundation,
the hands pushing up from the earth,
the roots feeding a child’s growth and imagination.

Summer. Days of long hot sun,
the wind scorching exposed skin
and throwing sand and twigs everywhere.

Summer. Early mornings when the sun
first reaches above the pine tree tops
and the light squirms its way through
openings in the pole barn roof, tapping
on closed eyes. Slowly the whippoorwill
across the seasonal creek is heard and
the acorns hitting roof every time
the wind arrives.

Summer. Afternoon storms that build
and tower above the flight paths
of airplanes, the silent clouds
with layers of colors, various shapes,
and ever-changing patterns.

Before the storms arrive as the sky darkens,
I am serenaded by the whispering pine
and the silent awakening of not being alone,
of having a connection with the earth
and to each tree providing shelter.

40 Days become 40 years
and the revolution/transformation
I began culminates from the
mountain peak.

Into the valley life flows
as the new sun rises
over the range.

Caribou continue their
thousand mile trek across
vast swaths of land
following their ancestors hoofs.

I teeter on this ridge and see
beyond the glacier fed waters
and the crystal sky and fall
into the ancient land where

the marathon first began,
where the fields were first built.

Alaska-20100729-20100807 277

 

I walk the worn dirt path
circling the overgrown fields
where the winds have abated
and the grass, flowers, and
trees have grown deep
roots while the land has
gone back in time before
the cities of industry.

(1)

Putting aside hollywood notions
of machine versus man –

September morning is
hidden in fog, coated
with an early frost.

Subdued sun scattered
across fields, meadows, and prairies.

The sky becomes the land
becomes the horizon.

We head north,
leaving behind city
lights and traffic
for pine trees and
winter in the air.

(2)

Winter is coming
early this year.

With axes, shovels
and our hands

we move the earth
gently and with care.

Preparing trails
and food plots,

becoming part of
the system,

returning to our roots.

Tools of the Trade
Tools of the Trade
Shelter and Home
Shelter and Home
My Helper
My Helper

A two-story white house
one window blue-framed
large oak tree in the
manicured yard, planter
with purple flowers
sways in the gentle breeze.

Every hour or so
the front door opens
and a man holding a
coffee cup emerges –
cigarette lit,
he watches traffic
on 7th street.

From this distance
across 7th street,
sipping my own coffee,
I ponder the image he
is painting, mixing
in the colors surrounding the house
and the paint upon his shoes.

To mom and pops


Light edges across the roof
giving rise to my shadow.

With eyes closed I know
it is there, I know I am home.

I left 20 years ago
trying to find my way

to make my own life
and path.

Travelling to other countries
finding my heart in Alaska

but I always came back
to where my roots planted –

where I first tasted
natures’ sweetness

and felt pain and love,
where I struggled with

childhood and a place
within the chaos.

No matter where I went
home was there waiting

with mom and pops
arms out unconditionally.


Home, Sunrise
Home, Sunrise

Clouds part and the setting sun burns the last rays into my eyes before disappearing behind the trees.  Such balance as each of these systems, including my just sitting here, has a role.

Finally the path I am on makes sense.  Pieces from everywhere scattered to the wind are falling into place, and for the first time in this life, I feel at peace, and have reached a balance.  The eternal struggle between what is within and what is without in a holding pattern, and I am in control of my actions and my presence here, in this space.

Now, what can I do?

Everything has roots.  Roots consist of physical reaches into the depths of soil and earth, or emotional connections to places we grew up, or that provided experience and a foundation for the people we are now.  Everything, no matter their size, belief, state of being, needs stability and a grounding.  There is so much more we have in common with everything else beyond basic needs.  We all consist of the same elements, the sub-atomic particles coalescing into lifeforms and beings.  We all struggle to get from day to day.  We all see birth and death.

So why do we fight apart, and not together, when we have more in common then differences?

Sky Into the Sea
Sky Into the Sea