From here the pathway opens,
forest thinning into meadow pond,
gnarled pines sweetening the air,
stillness steeping from the bedrock,
weight carried from the trailhead
dissolving in the dirt track,
breaking down like memories
under mountain sun;
wherever you are you are also here,
easing the thorn caught suffering
for a view of grass in morning breeze,
track of deer along the water’s edge,
the voice that called you long ago
speaking through the wind,
comforting the ache,
the lead like burden,
in this quiet place
where you are known.
The path will lead back to your life
and all its harsh restraint
but what is gone leave gone.
What you bring back will grow
like seeds rooted years ago,
a tree against the wind,
gathering from grass and stone
through root and branch
your tree of life, your shade, your seeding,
gifts beyond the furthest edges of your hope.
Inspiring….enchanting…
This is a life worth living. There is such honor in this piece, thank you, Don.
Welcome back, Bro… awesome Journey, eh!
Less clutter, more meaning — the gifts of courage and contemplation. Thank you, Don. Sometimes recently I’ve been shocked by what goes, is gone. But those spaces become part of the balance to what grows.
I love your work — the work behind the poetry — but the poetry is damn fine, too.
I AM THERE among the pines, the rocks, the water, the quiet. Thank You for a beautiful poem.
YES!
Bright Blessings, Brother Bard..
Putting it out there! Beautiful season your way.
Thanks Don, Tis a journey and how the time does fly. I hear only the present moment in this for what else is there. I am ever inspired by your living for this could not come absent that.
I appreciate the journey I take when I read this poem Don! Thank you for the evocative setting, laying down some characters and even sketching a plot, and leaving me room where I could find my own tracks. Good meditation piece.
This speaks so eloquently, Don. I understand these silent places. The journey is solitary, but there is comfort to be drawn from blowing grasses, scented pines and loving friends.
You seed peace with your words, Don. You must come back to campus one day to read for the students.
Substance. The track of the deer even, is of rich, fertile soil, waiting for seed, ready for another immaculate conception.
Trees are not called “Grandfather” for sake of a nickname. Wisened men and women are not called “Elder” for sake of respect alone.
Substance…of the Tree of Life….carefully etched into your poetic song, Don. Thank you.
Beautiful brother. I rode in the woods yesterday and was enchanted by the silent mystery of the trees. Your voice and the grandfathers feed my soul.
This poem puts me right there. Thanks, Don.
I didn’t realize I had a testament to my life!
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