Cast from expectations of treeless horizons
and concrete enforced cities,
we landed here within the forest
which quickly enveloped us.
Towering pines scatter the August afternoon
and we run through fallen needles and shadows.
At the end of the day we rest in the native grases
and watch butterfly wings open and close.
Looking at the calendar, over a month has passed since my last post here. Where does the time go? I would like to say that I was in the midst of some grand adventure, but that would not be true! Life. Just life happening, and dealing with the daily grind, the obligations, and the 9-to-5. It can be a challenge to keep grounded and your head above the water. Venturing further into my 40s, I am becoming more aware of this struggle, and questions of what next. What do I want the next chapter in life to look like, what story will it tell?
At the end of each day, what keeps me sane and going, are these 2 goofballs, and all their antics, barking, and playtime.
A quiet evening as the dust settles
and chaos is held at bay,
watching the sunset
with nature’s creatures.
These moments defining a life
provide peace and a bit of
knowledge grounding our place
to and within the world.
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.