Two videos from early Christmas Day with crystal blue skies, strong wind, and below 0 temperatures.
Shadows from high-clouds
in the early afternoon
pass over our faces
soaking in the autumn wind.
Do each of us have a monster inside
a beast we strive to hide from the
world, those close we love, and from our self?
At the end of each day
what are we truly running from?
What shadows lurk in the forest
and what shadows do we carry?
Across the fields with scattered snow
mountains rise from the earth
in spires of solid granite,
nearly featureless – how will
this barrier be overcome?
Standing at the base of the mountains
what hope I brought here
disperses on the cold wind
scouring the surface of the empty fields,
those fields I left behind years ago
when the beast chased me away.
I woke in the fields.
The fields I have never seen.
The fields black beneath the white sun.
Limbs emerge from snow.
Snow scatters into the wind.
Wind twists the clouds around me.
From the horizon a train nears.
The horizon shakes and fractures.
The fractured fragments cover my mind.
I was not yet ready to awaken.
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.
Through the forest
with only my thoughts
and the morning sun
reflecting off ice and snow.
Through the forest
the sky moves and
the cold wind shuffles
The previous days fall away,
my mind begins to empty
and the wind carries away
Free of what is no longer needed
the feelings of loss and being alone
are replaced with content and comfort
as that wind is you beyond memory.
Through the open window
a voice whispering garbled
words drifted in with the
autumn breeze filled with the sea.
Through the morning light
reflecting off floating dust
I walked to the window
overlooking the center of town.
Empty fountain, streets, and cafe tables
sat in the mountain shadows.
In the distance a church steeple
rises sharply atop the hill
and I struggle with mixed emotions
until I see you walk from the light.
Storms rolled through last week.
Weak and old trees toppled to the ground or fell into a neighbor or
landed on the wire fencing with the orange flags.
Near the pole barn smaller trees were uprooted but the metal roof
still looks new, the green roof glistening when wet.
What little birch are mixed with the pine
still stand, their white and grey skin
Scouring the landscape
the earth is overturned
and what was buried and waiting
surfaces and life continues the journey.