The Healing of the Cold Air

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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

As the Trail Opens Up by the Lake

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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

Walking with the Shadows

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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

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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

Winter Trees

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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.

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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

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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

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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

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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

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

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