He is younger than I am now Hunched over his rod Eyes focused on the water Intent and unaware his photo is being taken. He seems so small I see in him my dad, my brother, and myself September 1984, I am in college He and my mother living their
Late this afternoon Families talk, hear a tune Plink of banjo, thump of bass Woodsmoke, summer's sweetness does erase A warm afternoon breeze We watch as sunlight flees Mornings form cool and dry Geese arpeggio across the sky Pine cones husky drop Plums purple where they plop Apples
The struggle had, I suppose, been going on all morning but I was unaware of it at the time. The water's cold current pressing relentlessly against my legs and hips. The water whose surface was a dark green reflected from the forest on this overcast Oregon Saturday. The
There it sits framed in the black screen In a darkened office quiet as a nave A ghostly gray vase of muscle Shown in cross-section And inside a delicate flower is nestled The petals rushing open and fluttering shut Not so much like a flower as the wings of
Scintillating, 10,000 crickets thrumming throbbing sound, Sing down the day and bring the night around The pleading stars reflect their cries Even as the twilight dies Each breath smells of pine from heat of summer day Made harsh with smoke of burning forest twenty miles away A river of
A warm September evening and Mollie and I are up at Pine Street Woods. It is just past sunset with the air cooling. A faint hint of woodsmoke has returned after the cleansing rain of the other night’s thunderstorms. The hills to the west have a robin’s egg
She draws the delicate mist about her Like a shy courtesan she hides her face And watches when she thinks we are not watching Revealing when our attentions are turned Then is stolen away again by the jealous clouds
We met a nomad. She was our camp host though she didn’t come to introduce herself until we were about to leave. She said she thought she should introduce herself and mentioned she liked our trailer (an Escapod Topo 2 teardrop which does get a lot of comments). A
weminuche wilderness
A bright flash followed by a sputtering orange light that incandesced, guttered, and extinguished as the sharp crack of thunder bellowed through the forest. For that moment the tent felt like lying inside an electric lamp as it burned out. The rain, at first tip taps on the nylon, now
Through haunted smoke of lost civilization The tang of past dynasties hangs redolent in the air Here our gaze to the heavens Finds the consolation of an airless world Removed from our cares and tribulations
The winds have scattered the lightning-crazed clouds In their place tattered remains litter a blue sky We walk amongst the pear and apple, walnut and plum aftermath To know that fall is near
The western white pine has become my favorite tree at least for now. It also happens to be Idaho’s state tree which I learned only after my decision to elevate to the lofty esteem that I currently hold it in. My position on the tree is its sheer beauty.