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Through the end of winter
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Through the end of winter |
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bsquirrel
since 2000-01-03
Posts 7855
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1. Wood The treeline stretches a distance. When surrounded by oaken boughs I recall that once I gripped a walking stick to hike my way through and down. Into the bracken fields, the shattered mountains, empty cabins. I'd stay at night to cook my meals upon old stoves. Breaking eggs and swiping toast through the yolk. Bunking down, huddled against settling sounds, alone. In the morning I'd wake to see the sun climbing. Spreading branches pulling beams of light across the snowmelt on the ground. Sipping coffee, smoking cigarettes, I'd watch the threads of sunlight waver as the sky grew thicker. Sipping, smoking, as the clotted skeins of clouds grew thicker, casting shadows where was light. I'd hoist my pack, head out again. 2. Fire Walking solo through dark woods, until I came to hear a brook sliding over smooth brown stones. There I'd stop to fix my lunch. Smoke another cigarette, as I built a small, bright fire to boil soup upon, and sit, and watch the thick clouds trundle on. Sometimes I would watch the leaves flutterrustling in the trees. Sometimes I would take a pencil, write a little something down. Whatever I decided on, the soup would taste deep, rich and warm. The flavor of the yellow broth would offer comfort, by the coals. I could sit there for an hour, resting in twin threads of smoke -- one from the dulling fire, one from my cigarette. The miles traveled would rest heavy, yet I still would get up lightly, pack my things away again and move on. 3. Earth At one moment in my journey, I stopped suddenly. Thoughts of you -- why I was here -- flashed dazedly. I walked to a weedy clearing. Where I broke off twigs from trees. Into brief mud near a log, I lay a square in twigs and tinder. Another cigarette removed, the tip lit and pressed to a face -- to flame, the small square bit and lit and smoked cautiously from its place. Once the corners were curled in, the image singed in memory, I kicked cold mud upon the ash and thought again of you. I bit into a small, thin wafer, clinging in my mouth. It promised no resolution. The taste was dry, brittle -- like that flame. For the first time on this trip I wish I had brought wine with me. A cool glass to forget the smoke as your face succumbed to fire. 4. Metal Near a natural bridge, I'd stop and start a propane burner burning, so I could boil water near the bank. I'd lay out eggs and get them cooking, clicking there within hot water. I'd light a ciggy on the burner, take the dark rush in and ponder how the sky was sloping down to meet another evening. The stars are dots of ice at night within the empty, endless woods. The wind whistles metallic through the end of winter. Sometimes I would spot a bird gliding silent through the night -- a couple stars would blink out as the bird passed over them. 5. Water There were times of solemn sights. The empty cave. The smoldering dawn heavy with storm. Running in before the wind came on. A runnel of water on the floor spun nearby my foot and grew into a puddle, cold and dank, as the lightning shattered. When the thunder fell upon the trees, within the woods, small echoes, distant, would bring longing to my mind. Before I packed up to move on, as the storm broke to small drops, I thought of the picture left frozen gray in ash. Maybe I will hike back. No one deserves that alone. I will dig out what remains and take it back home. I will start on my way now. The dawn is slowly growing warm. There's many a mile left to step. The treeline stretches a distance. [This message has been edited by bsquirrel (09-18-2003 06:21 PM).] |
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Ceinwyn Member Elite
since 2000-07-09
Posts 2175VA |
may I have your autograph!?  If at first you don't succeed destroy all the evidence that you tried. |
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serenity blaze Member Empyrean
since 2000-02-02
Posts 27738 |
I can't get enough of this--and find it interesting that you, separate Wood from Earth? curious about that (smile, I know MY reasoning, just wondered if we shared that thought as well) This is intensely spiritual, and downright ritualistic and a nod to the cycles and natural rhythms. The sense of solitude pervades, which also strikes chords in me. And this? " bit into a small, thin wafer, clinging in my mouth. It promised no resolution. The taste was dry, brittle -- like that flame. For the first time on this trip I wish I had brought wine with me. A cool glass to forget the smoke as your face succumbed to fire." Is half communion. Point taken with heartbreaking clarity Mikie. Can I hold your hand anyway? love you much, m'friend. |
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Kaoru
since 2003-06-07
Posts 3892where the wild flowers grow |
Gah, this is genius.. something that seems to be rooted in my head, too.. |
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bsquirrel
since 2000-01-03
Posts 7855 |
Aw... thank you all. And Sen, to answer your question, that's how I used to know the elements. Somebody later told me I was wrong, that it was air, water, earth, fire -- but I disagree. Common sense wise, wood is something that springs from earth. A forest is it's own place, with its own rhythms and sounds. That's what i wanted to capture in this poem. |
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serenity blaze Member Empyrean
since 2000-02-02
Posts 27738 |
smile. That was my reasoning too. I figured Earth Evolutionized... hugs you. |
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