Mi hermano

is writing and blogging again:

white rocks cliff

leftover raindrops

falling from boughs

of hemlock and beech

the roar of the stream

the water cycle —

a few of its faces

a massive white pine

older than old

rises straight as an arrow

how many travelers

have marveled at the sight

of this ancient one?

after climbing over wet rocks

i came to a flat spot

where i drank from

the bottle in my pack

and watched mist drift by

—a few faces forgotten before

at the junction

with the long trail

that stretches border-to-border

i met a group of four

weary-looking travelers

they seemed surprised to see me

walking through

a gate of birches

i saw too many scratches

on their smooth paper skin

why feel the need

to leave oneself behind?

i stopped to eat

my apple along the way

when i am hungry

i eat

when i am tired

i sleep

climbing steady for a while

looking at shelf fungus

the woods opening up

i thought i heard voices

on two occasions

perhaps it was the trees

near the top

pushing through red spruce

i stopped to write

leaning my staff against a tree

i crushed a moth

which fell to the ground

picking it gently up

to say i was sorry

i was happy to see

its wings flutter

as it flew a short distance

— now the cold will get it

a shrine of smooth stones

stacked atop each other

and in the branches of trees

as though spirits were here

i chose not to add

mine to a pile

at the summit

of white rocks cliff

ragged clouds above

valley below touched with fire

of changing leaves

nothing but cold wind between

and on the way down

hiking quickly along

cold, hungry, and tired

i kept forgetting

to embrace the forest

that was embracing me

30 september 2009

wallingford, vt

http://cloudsforapillow.blogspot.com/