Color Palette

I see you in earth tones:
green when you round the corner on the trail in front of me,
brown when you pick me up again clean and fresh from a day in the sun,
gray when you move in close and shine your hungry eyes into mine.

and I know that I am the deep purple of twilight
shining with stars yet murky with shadows.

but I think the day and the night,
like the sun and the moon,
are better when they blend together
as dusk and dawn.

-L

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flowing

sometimes, gratitude is a blanket
wrapped around my body
in the form of letters, these treasures
from my roadmap of life

but if i don’t consider from where i’ve come,
how can I move forward?
direction is only relative to a starting point

i think of the snowmelt
the freeze and thaw;
the process that leads to
flowing

and i can hear the wailing, always
as much in my own gut as the
graveyard nearby

but the strength of water suggests that
freezing and thawing are
a necessary part of life

that resilience is not weight,
but water,
flowing

-A

August 13, 2017

my hair still smells like a campfire
falling over my face
as I sit here trying to identify
the same wildflowers you used yesterday
to show me how bees carry pollen on their feet

and I think we are just killing time
thumbing through the pages
as I read the description of touch-me-not
the proven antidote for Poison Ivy
learned in a book instead of an internet search

but we can’t camp out here forever
waiting for meteors
as heat lightning catches the clouds on fire –

the world is burning in Charlottesville today
and I don’t know how to answer for my skin

-L

awake

on a sunny thursday morning, walking along the sandy bank of the river
i stopped to watch a small wasp, no larger than the dime in my pocket
dig a hole in the sand
grain by grain

and on a chilly tuesday evening, walking along the spine of the sangre de cristos at sunset
i stopped to watch the hundreds of thousands of bats, each as big as the palm of my hand
fly into the night
one by one

i feel tears sting my eyes and roll slowly down my cheekbones
gathering at my chin

there is no name for what i am feeling
but as if the sun and moon were rising all at once
i can hear each of my fragile perceptions
shatter

and i am in awe
not of beauty
not of the color or texture
or rushing river water or sunset

but of purpose
of movement
of rhythm

of witnessing the earth do
as it needs to

on a misty friday morning, laying in my sleeping bag in the dewy, grassy meadow
i hear an elk bugle in the distance
as if to greet the morning sun

here, or there
with eyes open, or closed,
i am awake

-A

from where i sit

from where I sit
i can see the foothills
rising to rocky, snow-covered peaks

the hills, stretching in every direction,
are covered in
neat rows of houses, mansions

earth moved and
reconstructed
to house refrigerated air and
and clean windows

and if i close my eyes, i can imagine
the hills
naked

or clothed in
pine forest and grass prairie
antelope and deer
turkey and mountain lion
roaming in
equilibrium
*
at night, driving along the hills
a deer comes into view, grazing on the roadside
struck by the headlights, frozen
eyes bright

mentally, i capture this image
finding it so strange and meaningful

i recall the childhood game i played
“find what does not belong”
and i ask myself,

is it the deer that does not belong on the asphalt, under the streetlight, among the rows and rows of houses, unending?

or

is it me, in this car, riding along the carcass of the alpine meadow, among the skeletons of trees resurrected as towering houses
taking up space
taking away space
from where it belongs?
*
from where i sit
behind the glass window
on the second floor of a
house on top of a hill
overlooking the meadow rising to the
rocky, snow-covered peaks

i am struck
not by the beauty of the landscape

but by its scarring

and my own hands

-A

Another Intruder in Hocking Hills

 

the face of the rock
that houses the caves
is the kind of irresistible green
that makes my hands tingle
and my mouth water
until my body cannot dull its hunger any more
and I reach out greedily to touch it;

it is as cool as I expected
but I am surprised to find it is also
fuzzy
mossy
wet;

I sink my hands in and wonder
who else before me
has ached to return the
silence to the hills

IMG_7523

-L