There is snow in the high country

Banks and I wandered off trail as is our new habit,

To have the place to ourselves

No fellow hikers.

My inner being stretches and breaths

I’ve been holding my breath for days

My friend is ill and I am in “resist mode”

But as I lay on a log in the empty forest

Opening my chest- sending her love.

All is well.

Love is a vibration- timeless and true.

And as we retrace our steps

Banks…. alert to every nuance

Leads the way

Stopping to look for his shoulder

To see how I’m doing

And isn’t this all we ever really wanted.

Our old neighbor

(who now lives on the big Island

and wants us to visit ( would we?)

Sat under the thinned and pruned locust trees

Forest bathing as directed by John.

That far field belongs to the fairies

Thorny trees and the towering hemlock.

But be careful,

You might be put to sleep for 100 years

Or relax for 15 minutes- younger.

Our forest bather reported on meeting the angel

That resides there

Like the third chair- the creational aspect

Of we earthlings and the land.

I haven’t been at my best

Picking fights and taking no prisoners

I didn’t know what had me- What Demon?

Turns out it’s ” My Place in the World ( demon)”

Something I usually steer away from

But I’ve invited the world in- hosting

An Open Studio in October.

Me – my right to be here, expressing

and making things, I am the world

The world is me.

I took my germ ridden body- up hill

Banks and I enjoy an outing in nature

So off we went early, coffee in hand

Right before the big show shuts down

It’s the color of happiness in the high country

Driving with care to dodge the squirrels-

Busy creatures this time of year

And in the woods,

Dropping pinecone missiles

That would hurt…

One young squirrel let us get up close

His tail wrapped over his head, munching

I was sorry we disturbed him.

His gnomic world – short, succinct, crisp, and economic.

He turned quick when he finally saw us

While I held Banks leach tight.

It’s hard to turn back towards home

Something so vital in the woods.

On a center stage of my own creating

I didn’t turn my entire self over to my “message”

I was still in the room-

Still self aware and eee gods- it was bad.

If I’m going to be speaking in tongues

Then I have to let go and enter into

That subliminal space of truth

Where important words – live

Allowing them to flow through-

unimpeded by a personal identity.

“““““““““““““““““““““““““`

A steep learning curve is upon me-

I bet there is one riding on you too.

This is a shout out to Terry Bell

Eighth generation on the same land

Down East Maine,

We once did a two week traverse of Yellowstone

And it was always we two bringing up the rear.

Having shorter legs then those giants ahead-

our porky- pig legs did get us up the ravine and over

A brother in law of the highest caliber. We had fun together.

“““““““““““““““““““““““““`

On today’s hike in the rain

I was trailing John and Banks

When I tripped on a branch

And went forward onto my knees

Head coming in touch with the hill.

I thought wow- that was such a small fall

A person could really get hurt out here.

But at the same moment

I was the necessary-supplicant

The one bowing to the natural world.

And now it’s mushroom for dinner.

As I was going out the door

John said “Go off trail” and

Banks and I did just that

We forded the stream- our feet wet

Discovering the lake behind the known lake

Eating our food and having a sip of water

We moved on

Banks bouncing across the bog

Feet black like a fox

But when we entered the brambles

Banks made the call to turn back

And I agreed.

Sometimes it’s best to listen to our friends.

True comradery – we two.

This is Jean Pierre’s puffer fish- Pedro

He’s very friendly – comes over, with a wiggle of joy.

Each of us are so completely precious.

And my friend, Charlie, who battles on under – water

She is relentless, a mythic fighter, decades long

Giving and receiving all that life offers up

I think of her as Beowulf

Fighting the monster’s mother

Under the surface of the lake

We might see the ripples but

Most of us will never know…..

But I do.

And I know who will win- SHE WILL.

xxxooooxxxoooooooxxxxx

On this hot afternoon

I made peach jam

Not sure if it will set –

Pot bubbling beneath my spoon

I am an old woman.

And come winter, my jam , your cure

You will know I am a healer.

Now- I jump into the river

Swimming across the current- laughing

(And as I write this peach of a poem)

With only a towel around me- still cool

I am the young woman.

““““““““““““““““““““““`

Living the old chant are we…

“I am an old woman, I am a young woman

I am a healer and my soul will never die.”

Here’s to that!

Wild in it’s reaching tendrils

Climbing on multiple strings.

Higher than the roof it floats

Reaching for the moon

Ignorant of the distance

I too want to be unrealistic

And inspired.