Stirred awake at dawn
smoke blanketed the island,
the forests of the Clackamas,
Santiam and McKenzie
lifted into white clouds,
passing on their trail
to the other side.
So many old friends
who knew my name,
sheltered me through
turmoil and grief.
I rose and walked
to the rock point
in early filtered light
to stand on the shore
and honor their journey.
Orcas exhaled
in deep bass sounds,
a line of them
near and far along
the smoke laden channel
signaling farewell.
Years of standing vigil
beside mountain rivers
leaving this life,
their mantle passed,
carried on the wind.
Reading of “Trail of Smoke” by the author with music by Little Wolf
“their mantle passed” — beautiful, inevitable, and still tragic. Thank you, Don.
My heart is touched. I thank you, Don.
What I celebrate is that I have a friend who
“… rose and walked
to the rock point
in early filtered light
to stand on the shore
and honor …” his friends’ journeys.
Don…poignant and stirring, this…..
🙏🏼
Deeply moving Don!
Don, in addition to liking the sentiment, the respect in the meditation, I admire the structure of the poem. You catch the thought and you catch the rhythm of the world you’re watching. Thanks.
Write on!, Don.
The trail of human enterprise passing.
Here in the Helena Valley the Sleeping Giant quakes in dense smoke hailing from seemingly everywhere in the Northwest. I am at my station.
This brought a tear. I can so relate to this:
So many old friends
who knew my name,
sheltered me through
turmoil and grief.
I had that experience with certain parts of the forest around the 100 Mile community…
Deeply felt poem Don….takes me to the depths of our connection and disconnection with all that is….I have a lot of your poems to catch up on
Perhaps a good metaphor for this living process of ascension and descension, with its glory and its grief and its magic — all of which you shape so marvellously here in the way of words — Through the Smoke Hole.
A profound eulogy for all those who lost so much, some of them their lives, during last summer’s fire season…