As the leaves fly, high up on the ridge, swirling
in late autumn, the bears within
our spirits, lose their hold,
claws releasing
as a oneness returns pulling us
back into peace,
with the smell pine trees
and the healing of the cold air.
We can walk even further now.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies
A dragonfly buzzes close to me,
then glides back into the woods,
as I continue through the shadows, and sun
the trail opens up by the lake,
and I can sense now,
that I was never alone.
Note: I hope you have enjoyed the Mountain Walking series. I love writing this way.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies
A twig snaps under my foot, as I stop in mid-stride
a crow drops noisily on a large branch,
bouncing, looking, inspecting
my progress, while I let my foot down
gently. I stand remembering
the First People,
Crow, they were called
and that chief,
named Standing Bear. Shadows
moving through the trees,
leaving only feathers –
the crow hides quietly
this time on a taller branch,
perhaps there was a ghost
brushing
against the ferns.
I start walking again, silently
with shadows blending.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies
In the mountains where eagles live,
a lone hiker stops, to tie his boots again
as he lays his walking stick down,
he watches
a mother bear, teach her cubs
that blueberries really are good
for food.
And as the clouds drift
chipmunks scatter under the brush
running for their burrows
having seen a shadow
of wings.
And the hiker continues
with a renewed strength,
as he picks up
his walking stick.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies
I went walking in the woods yesterday, (yes it was cold) and I was amazed at the lighting and lines of the trees. Here are a few samples. I think next time I will try black and white. There is a short poem at the end.
Pretending to be dead but very much alive,
their roots cannot be defeated, breathing
through the soil, waiting for the right time
to burst with life and color, and air
for us to breathe.
Writing, Poetry and Images © Copyright 2016, ancient skies
Peace and blessings to everyone.
“When we love people, we give them hope.”
Hope is a trail we need to follow
no matter how badly our boots are worn
the trail does get dark when we go through disasters
but if we keep walking, keep pushing forward
we can empty our backpacks, our heavy load.
Unloading the worry and fear, filling up on the nourishment
of earth and sky, will always keep us moving,
keep us going forward, strengthening
no matter how badly our boots are worn.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2015, ancient skies
Peace and blessings to everyone.
“If you love nature, you will love people.”
Cold air, blowing on my forehead,
sweating,
telling my lungs to live,
taking in the brisk,
the crispness,
underneath a cotton sweatshirt.
Jeans marching,
buffeting the leaves,
over tennis shoes hopeful,
gliding over the mountain trail.
Spirit soaring,
pausing to dwell,
with the eagles,
grateful to be alive,
with the owls sleeping,
in the daylight sun,
the autumn,
seeing with sharp eyes,
the yellow and orange,
living again.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2015, nicodemasplusthree
Peace and blessings to everyone.
“If you love nature, you will love people.”
Loneliness is a bike,
without a rider,
a backpack,
with only one sandwich,
and a writer,
without a story,
looking to the sky,
calling for characters,
to be born again.
Writing and Image © Copyright 2015, nicodemasplusthree
Peace and blessings to everyone.
“If you love nature, you will love people.”
Talking with an Eagle
I was on the top of the mountain,
enjoying the air, and the view,
houses the size of ants,
and with problems so small.
I saw him coming, from the right
out of the corner of my eye,
then in front of me, soaring, looking at me
wearily, he said: “Not another tourist!”
I got angry, and shook my fist at him,
I said, “I heard that!”
He continued soaring to my left,
and screeched some unintelligible words.
Flying behind me,
to the other side of the mountain.
I sat down on a rock, undaunted,
until he came around again,
Screeching,
he said: “Go back!”
“Go back to your nice warm house”
It was snowing then,
soaring towards the left he added,
“and to your people!”
I yelled back, “I can live here too!”
I knew it was dumb, as soon as I said it.
Then he was gone – around, behind me,
to the other side of the mountain.
I sat back, against a rock, perplexed,
flakes on my nose, and parka.
He came around again from the right,
This time he landed silently on a tree limb,
brown with white, and looked at me.
I stood up and crossed my arms. And waited,
my hat becoming white.
He presented his argument,
he brought up some good points.
I just stood there and then – I let go,
“Alright”, I said, not really meaning it.
I started back down the trail, stomping,
back to this messed up world,
and back to my people,
thousands of feet,
thousands of steps,
thousands of problems,
grumping the whole time,
slipping on a white rock.
When I got to the base of the mountain,
I looked up and there he was, soaring, and gloating,
as if to say, “I can fly and you cannot”.
I made my way back to the car,
anger melting the snow,
and started the engine. Heater on.
I realized in my heart though
he was right.
So I put the car in drive
and headed back to this messed up world,
and back to my people.
The snow was coming down heavy then.
© Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree
The Billy Goat Trail
Sharp and jagged rocks,
imbedded in the trail, hard to walk,
easily bruised.
Sprained ankles,
falling.
Circling round to the river,
resting, and eating.
Drinking in the air,
People leave quickly though
and say, “back to the trail”.
Using the river like caffeine,
no thanks – no more for me,
sprained ankles…moving on,
face down.
The trail is not my path,
I need to be here –
where water is in the air,
with sounds of the rocks
being washed,
and peace, living here
where there are no bruises.
The people are yelling at me…
“C’mon, we need to go…”
I tell them go without me,
all I need is 5 more hours….
maybe longer…
of being washed by the river.
© Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree
