Stones in my Pocket

With each trail I hike
I gather stones in my pockets,
twigs and moss in my hands

and one day

I will gather together all those rocks

all those stones and twigs,

branches and moss,

and I will build a small home
made up of all those trails that

led me to that point

and I will live

completely

within each mile that I have walked

There's a Hole in the Pond

There's a hole in the pond

into which the sky falls

into which the sky falls most days

and the secrets that sink

to the bottom of that well

shimmer with an iridescent glaze

Burying Lightning

I dug a hole

to bury the lightning

to save for another day

but soon I found

that nature's plans

oft travel in other ways

The Binding of the Years

The creek was dark

beneath the canopy of trees

save for one shaft of sun

that lit the stream there like gold

I could see 

on the bottom of the creek

a crawdad, scuttling to safety

the crawdad hid beneath 

an ancient sheet of paper

heavy with age and 

weathered with water

There was writing 

on the old paper,

a message that 

was being erased 

by the steady flow

The writing was in Spanish

and the remaining words

that I could read said

...El sol, la luna y las estrellas, 

la atadura de los años,

esto nos mantendrá firmes...

...which I translated to say

...the Sun, the moon and the stars,

the binding of the years,

these are what hold us steady...

It is my estimation

that this was from a 

diary of a wanderer,

a sojourner and stranger

holding steady to the path in front of her,

the stream, rolling alongside her,

and the stars above her

I believe that she 

was speaking of a 

promised land

one better than older

promised lands

and more sure.

I added my own words to the water

and walked on.

Now, I Know Better

She placed the stars in the sky each night

as the sun set low and red

"I used to think it was impossible

but now I know better," she said.

Not That You Need My Approval

Rise up wild daughter of the woods

dance and romp

struggle and scream

kick and punch.

Persist. Resist. Insist. Consist

of and within your

own sweet and glorious dragon Self.

Kick at the stones and

split the sky into

one thousand shards of color

bellow in rage

fight

spin

sing.

Or don't.

Just rest and relax or do

whatever

it is your own unchained soul wants.

It IS your life. Live it by your rules.

This poet stands with you and your choices.

At a Possum Pace

If I could have a job that required long slow walks

through the woods,

I think I would take it.

Brisk, heelstomping, leafcrunching hikes

can be enjoyable,

but the Slow Walks are what allow me

to see what could be.

Soon I hear a fluttering just above me

and I stop again,

and thrill to my first sighting this spring

of a red-headed woodpecker

with his flashy formal black and white attire

standing in bold contrast to his brilliant

scarlet scalp.

I pause like a tree and listen and watch,

and then I move on,

but only at a

possum pace.