It’s good to really look at dead things. To open oneself to a meditation on the destruction and ultimately the transformation of life. What we fear most, when examined closely, is just one more extraordinary moment of beauty in us. Death builds beauty, it doesn’t really destroy it.
Bear Creek/Sims underpass: Photo by Noelle
It shimmers in the dark. Brilliant and colorful. Full while silent. Stories and nothingness. A soul is a curious thing endlessly reflecting light, as it bobs upon the water.
Ephemeral is the late afternoon sun. In autumn and spring colors are fleeting. Light passes over all life, a gentle hand grazing the tops of wheatgrass. Such a romance. Infatuated until dusk when a sliver of light caresses the earth and leaves me standing in the field.
No witch waiting on Hansel and Gretel. No sickness or evil lurking in the dark of the wood. Only a bouquet of light awaiting my arrival. So delighted I’d worn my best flannel.
Winding road
Hugging the river
Water pipes and
Briar thatches
In love with the
Autumn sun
Quite some time passes when I am in the company of a tree I feel I know. Some I do, as in I have grown up with them or pass them often on my walks. We have that familiarity of time and company. Others simply stop me because I KNOW them, deep at the center of me. Maybe they feel the same. A sense of deep woodiness at the center of their being about me. I walk among them, along creek beds and down into the marsh, running my hands on their bark. Rough and rutted I scratch my back like a bear. I understand Muir’s passion to protect them. I, too, find it hard to return home. The company they offer runs as rich and deep as their roots.
For a moment, I thought I was Alice, as its great maw gaped at me. Ah to tumble down into the dark and see where it should lead. Maybe to find Wonderland. One never truly outgrows the hunger for adventure and a new storyline, do they?
Ancient the stone that cracks to slip my spirit free into an open sky.
There is no doubt I love to walk summer trails, but there is something about the wood in fall and winter that stirs me deeply. The shadow and light play differently at the longer light angles. There is a feeling, too, of all that once was and what will be hanging on each branch like flowering ghosts.
"Nothing Exceeds Like Superfluous Jejunity "
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Explorations in Authenticity by Michael Mark
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5-7-5 syllabic haiku in the english language
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Auf einmal ist alles relativ
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Expanding Fully in this moment, understanding ourselves deeply, finding happiness
Meditation Travelogue 
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