Every Turn at Greeley Ponds

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Hiding rolling peaks,

White mountain mist soaks the sky,

The green leaves glisten.

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Fervently arching,

Stretching into existence,

Delicate pink blooms.

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Sudden urgency,

Water racing over rock,

Tidal foam basins,

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The smallest of worlds,

Elaborate flower field,

Just under my thumb.

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Pristine mountain pool,

Approaching in still reverence,

Wonder and silence,

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What kind of quiet,

Does it take for a river,

Passing through summits?

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Wind crossing water,

Ripples whipping the shoreline,

Trees in their winter,

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Only to witness,

From blueberry bush perches,

The passing lake swells.

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Pools, hidden and swift,

Holding onto a north wind,

Sing in low whispers.

Renewal on Red Hill

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Fresh blueberry brush,

And delicate flowers,

Born in the soft spring…

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Welcoming blue skies,

Wanting us to know, boldly,

Of tomorrow’s hopes.

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Yesterday’s sorrows,

Rolling in heavens away,

Diminish on high.

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The world is still safe.

Fresh, open and beautiful.

The sun will still shine.

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Delicate flowers,

Shaking with Spring’s purity,

Unfold to the world.

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When once we had thought,

We were buried in the frost;

Only in passing –

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The flowers – the bridge –

The marker on the trail,

Toward peace of mind.

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I want to reach out,

Letting go as unfurled bark,

Kissing the Spring wind.

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Life is everywhere,

Birches flush with rich green leaves,

Branches bursting forth –

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Life clings to tree trunks,

Huddling against the odds,

Brilliantly stable.

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Small signs will show you,

When you least expect them to,

Paths to Happiness.

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Holding out my hand,

Widely in the forest air,

Waiting for a friend –

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Rivers come and go;

Late May rain is letting up,

I hear sweet stillness.

 

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My Spring heart rushes,

Tumbling forward to you,

My sweetest of friends –

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I know I’m ready,

For soothing summer sunbeams,

Laughter and warm smiles.

Foothills of Lafayette and Cannon

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The woods were silent,

Heavy with the fallen snow,

Pale from sad tidings.

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When no strength remains,

Yet we are faced with walking,

Under broken trees…

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Not a single birch,

Could face the whipping winter,

or the mortal cold.

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In deep snow chasms,

Rushing as icy water,

Where are you, brother?

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I know we were meant,

To grow older together,

Like holiday firs.

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Frozen teardrops hang,

At the base of every branch,

In your memory.

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Entire mountains,

Brought to their knees before us,

Mourning this loss.

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I have to believe,

That somewhere deep underneath,

There can still be joy.

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Looking towards the ridge,

Waiting for some kind of sign,

Wanting for answers.

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I still hear your voice,

Calling out to me faintly,

When it is quiet.

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Reaching an impasse,

My heart takes the blow again,

Agonizing time.

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Sometimes no matter,

Wanting or pleading or quiet,

We will have to wait.

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Only memories,

Cherished, painful and fleeting,

Roll in and roll out.

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I watched a sunrise,

Once burn away a dense fog,

Leaving fresh, sweet dew.

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It is fair to wish,

For a gentle spring morning,

In lieu of your smile.

Friends in Red Rock Canyon

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Clouds pass overhead –

But we will always have earth,

Hard beneath our feet.

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Oldest Memories,

Easy to be young with you,

Like when we were kids.

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I remember days,

Slower, sunny and languid,

Like in this desert.

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Nice to have nothing,

But the waving rocks and you,

And laughter all day.

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We have to go back –

The desert needs loud laughter,

More than it needs rain.

Three Ponds and Mt. Kineo Trail

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Will we see it all?

Before the changes of leaves,

Become too heavy?

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The brightest spectrum,

Soaring above the vortex,

Is an urgent signal.

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Is there a message,

Of solitude yet to come,

In this final leaf?

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Little vestiges,

Of sweet summer weightlessness,

Cling to cold branches.

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Where dormant beavers,

Dare not to stir still waters,

For chance of sightings.

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Two ageless tree stumps,

Standing in the stiff fall wind,

are tersely silent.

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In a bold, brash coup,

Burning autumn leaves defy,

Blue October skies.

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And the river flows,

Never in acknowledgement,

Of a single day.

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Ah – crisp waters sigh,

In an introspective way,

In a single note.

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The sharpest color,

Is a cool crystal azure,

In a hidden pool.

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Perfect, soft and smooth –

Hands playing in tall grasses,

Never to need rest.

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Far off the trail.

We peered beyond the marshes,

At a secret lake.

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Such brilliance beheld,

At the edge of the clearing,

Fishing poles aside.

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Then we were crossing,

That spiny twenty-foot dam,

Mud to our ankles.

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Broadcasting ripples,

To a far away neighbor,

The forgotten log.

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Bitter ruby leaves,

Pungeant like ripe cranberries,

Escort the bright stream.

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But not to forget,

What the pond must have been like,

Before we were here.

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The dam challenges,

Any fearing intruder,

Who wants to stay dry.

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And the logging ops,

Smooth out the windy ripples,

In a little cove.

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More spectacular,

More alive or energized,

Than any canvas.

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And unexpected,

The pool below Kineo,

And the high waters.

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There, the Mountaineer,

Standing as a true equal,

To power beyond.

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Just two old friends then,

Finding peace and forgiveness,

In the wilderness.

Mt. Lafayette, Mt. Lincoln and Little Haystack

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By Falling Water,

We passed into the journey,

Less concerned for if –

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The emboldened face,

Of granite, ever stoic,

Watched us climb over.

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Turning to the sky, for hope,

And inspiration.DSC03236Blinding autumn star,

Beaming over glowing streams,

Over Shining Rock.

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To man, on a narrow ledge,

Under hard granite.DSC03244

Finally breaking,

A fine view through the tree line,

Encouraging us.

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Just a breath away,

Seemingly, Lafayette stands –

Impartially quiet.

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Endless summit sea,

Rolling waves of challenges,

On peaks yet unknown.

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Freedom is a length –

A measurement from the soul,

To endless wonder.

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The road to freedom,

Knows no enclosures or bonds,

Charges or limits.

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We stood on the edge,

To better know the high ridge,

Outside the bare path.

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In a certain sweep,

Our souls wandered the valleys,

Yet alive and well.

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Monumental cairn,

More of a fragile old friend,

Than a trail marker.

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And in looking back,

We saw the distance behind,

While catching our breath.

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Sudden consciousness –

To know where we were going,

And where we came from.

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Defiant vertical –

Never underestimate!

The power of stone.

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Curving cirrus clouds,

Beyond the stoic sheer wall –

Pass in deference.

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Where once shelter stood,

Memories of hitched horses,

Rest on the summit.

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One last longing glance,

Toward a place I knew well.

Must this be goodbye?

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Long roads lie ahead,

Dying sun tussles the grass,

Beneath my worn feet.

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Yet extraordinary,

To see again the ridges,

In the cool distance.

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The mountain, setting,

Not unlike the sun, brilliant,

In my mind’s eye still.

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With inches of light,

The forest path grows fast dim,

as we disappear.

Memories of the Pemi Trail and Basin

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We were here before –

And our hair was longer then,

blown back in the mist.

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Unattainable.

Like blurred rushing ice water,

Past my fingertips.

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I stood in this pool,

Waiting for you to see me,

Once upon a time.

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All of the old days,

Pounding hearts and brewing smiles,

Left in the Basin.

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We’ll wander up then –

To see the blue sky again,

And remember us.

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Something familiar,

Like a rock that never moves,

I have found your heart.

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Let the river swell.

We will stand, side by side here,

And spring from the rush.

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Or just quietly,

Fall to pieces together,

Under the cool stream.

Closer on Lonesome Lake

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Meteor Impact?

Or a pounding ancient hoof?

A question for Drew.

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We couldn’t stop it –

Helplessly, the shutter fell

To the birch beauty.

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The last breaths of warmth,

Stirring below the vast lake,

Wanting for summer.

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Not without grinding,

The gears of the fast Autumn,

Settle in a chill.

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We sat in reverence,

Watching the seasons run through,

Behind baring roots.

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Where an empty dock,

Views the most idyllic place –

Almost imagined.

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There in the east sky,

Three mountains that never move,

Hold down the hard earth.

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Lafayette reaches,

Out to Lincoln and Haystack,

Holding forever.

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On a wooden board,

The future was shown to us –

Yet solid and firm.

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For behind the change,

From confrontation is strength,

and all that matters.

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Especially to

Two small stretching wooden boards

Over cool waters.

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Our hopes hanging there,

Still perplexing and unknown,

But now considered.

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Is the clarity,

Of a crisp cool blue fall sky,

Too much to ask for?

Champney (Champion) Falls to the Chocorua Summit

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Cascades opening,

The valley for the trail –

Our invitation.

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Unforgettable –

The tree that climbed the rock face,

and never came down.

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Under massive stones,

We took a peek at darkness,

And felt sudden chill.

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Chiaroscuro,

Unapologetic, bold –

Rocks that say ‘Get lost.’

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Don’t trouble yourself

With worrying over roots,

Straight from a Märchen.

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Higher and higher,

Our steps lifted us quickly,

Into the great whites.

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On the perfect day,

We saw purple majesty –

All of the mountains.

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We held each other,

Without a care in the world,

But for a moment.

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A summit beagle,

Sleepy, slumbering beagle,

A ho-hum beagle.

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Southern exposure,

Boulders pressing the blue sky,

Making cloud diamonds.

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I felt cool metal,

Just under my fingertip –

I had arrived then.

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Guardian angel,

Just over my right shoulder,

Keeping watch of me.

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Guardian angel,

Just over my left shoulder,

Showing me the path.

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Wide open heavens,

Were always enough for us.

We reached paradise.

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The ridge to heaven,

Though treacherous and shifting,

Is well worth the climb.