Monday, February 23, 2015

Jordan Mountain

The sun rises over the crest of the Sierras
Between Jordan Mountain and his mate
Where he has more gravity this time of year
To draw and pull the body towards him

Illuminating her south facing slopes first and foremost
Lifting her to grace the day before him
As the valley between them rejoices in the glory
Of the morning rays flooding the treetops

Two green isles on either side
Rising to meet the day as one
The gurgling brook between them calls the dance
Inundating the tune with quiet rhythm

Before them lay the sequoia belt
Glowing golden rose amongst the pine
Written down like ancient runes upon the rock
Ornaments of efforts united once more

For this is the way of things
The beginnings of the High Sierra
Bold mountains stretched along ridge lines
Reaching for the heavens in all their merriment and unwavering accord

For Chappy and Dee

Saturday, February 21, 2015

Sunday, February 8, 2015

Poison Meadow

Had some time last Sunday to get out to the woods. So I headed up to Poison Meadow in the Sierra National Forest. Beautiful day in the middle of yet another unfortunate dry year here. Drought has still gripped the land shown by the lack of snow here at elevation. But still, got to play with a few sharps, smell the woodsmoke, and enjoy the quiet peace.

By the time I got around to making a fire to brew some tea, it was later in the afternoon. The Super Bowl would be starting soon, and I didn't want to miss too much of it.

So after what seemed like forever trying to use a fire steel and failure after failure.........

........ I used a lighter.....

Coulda used a match. Coulda used flint and steel. Coulda tried a bow drill. But no. I had enough frustration.

Anyways. Made some mistakes. Learned some things. Still had a great time. Still able to write about it. Took some pics. Made a little movie. Made it back before halftime.


Sometimes you need a little help
To start the fire within
To get the tea brewed to quench the thirst
To find peace through the turmoil

Struggles and failures viewed upon the smoke
Their words linger in the air
And breath deeply
Embedding themselves in the moss

Where they come to rest for the long nights ahead
Held in a tangle of green and gold
Quiet in the darkness
Only to emerge as the afternoon sun warms them again

For they are often not the best teacher
With their chains of shame holding down
Poison to flush clean from the mind
Where memory's loss may be the remedy

But on occasion along the meadow's edge
They spark sudden with brilliant illumination
Remembrances of wrongs and the amendings
To right the ways that lead to water

It is ok to make small mistakes
As long as you strive not to repeat them
To learn from them and move on
To laugh at yourself in the winter sun