Free to Choose

It is hard to fathom their extinction
There are so many
They are so free!

Will we choose wisely
A leader who would see the smallest beauty
And realize its importance to the infinite?

Elemental

From high atop the mountain peak

It was an impossible miracle
The way you rose from the earth

Defying gravity, you came,
beginning an endless journey
to merge with your kind

And who will you touch as you roam?
Who will you feed in your endless quest?
What fires will you quench before you finally find the sea?

Forest Walk

As summer has fled, and chill sets in,
Gone with the warm lazy days, my languid moods,
My bones, they ache, I need to move.
My spirit longs for you and I obey
Wandering through your stately groves.

Once, in a moment not too long ago
You were young, green, and your leaves airy and bright
Now, fire has crept into your veins
Growing darker by day, yet rich in splendor
Your blood rescinds, back into the earth
Shedding your colors to the forest floor
To feed your feet in the coming storm.

Death of The Golden Age

It is natural, this death,
Our pillars are not immune,
The illusion of power
In the image of gold
Is sure to crumble, is crumbling
Will turn to dust again.

Where will we find our happiness
When the last golden leaf is gone?

The Dance of Living

We dance the steps of the living
And for each step, we are grateful, we are joy.
Moving through each reality
With mindful paces
We are fleeting
Turning away, we are gone

Thank you to the monks of the Rambok Monastery, Sikkim, India.

A Word is Worth a Thousand Pictures

There are days when the camera is better left behind; days when it is better to see with the eyes, than through a lens.

In The Forest

The day was cold and crisp, and the sun was hiding away behind a cover of clouds. I had been out into the forest just days before, late in the afternoon with the sun low and the shadows playing. I tried to capture the forest then, and to some extent I did, but her true glory remained elusive to my eyes until this day.

I was struck by a light that emanated from deep within the forest. The light shimmered, and as I walked closer, it began to multiply as thousands of leaves formed a canopy that was spun in 24 carat gold. In obeisance, lower layers of reds and oranges faced the golden tree, fanning her royal branches with gentle breezes that could not be felt with human skin. Rebellious though complimentary, flashes of green, those last holdouts in the golden age of this arboreal society, made their statement of attempt to remain what they have been, though they too will change, and they too, will fall.

I didn't capture what I saw into digital perpetuity. Am I to be faulted for this?

Autumn Glory

Because we truly are dying
And have spent so many seasons
Hiding behind a cape of shade,
Perhaps that is why we have chosen this time
To let passion touch our faces
Without running from what we are.
Knowing that next month
The season will have changed
And we will once again be asleep.

A Word to the Three Graces

Each morning as the dawn arrives, my cat, Marlow, jumps off the foot of the bed and goes to stare out the window at the dawn and the first birds of the day. I pretend to sleep a while longer, staying huddled under warm covers. Finally he can't stand my slothful inattentiveness anymore and he jumps back onto the bed, walks up toward my face and then jumps off the bed as I reach out to pet him. He sits just below the bed and stares up at me, occasionally calling out to me as if to say "Get up! The day has arrived!" Suddenly the light hits the window and I am charged with energy in a way no animal can inspire. I run up the stairs with my camera, to see how The Graces across the field will look today. I am in awe of their stature and beauty as they are struck by the first rays of the morning sun.

Solidly rooted, you remain unchanged,
as the world around you swirls.
Every day you remain unchanged,
but through my varied lenses,
I perceive you differently.

Morning

How lucky I am
To wake up to this beauty
Dancing in the dawn

Freedom

In the fenced in field in which we live,
we presume to be free.
We will run quickly and kick our heels high,
and though the late shadows chase us,
we will not see them.

In the end, the night will fall,
and we will sleep deeply,
even through the howling wind,
we will not awaken.

Red

Red, creeps up her bark
Lit and flamed in ardent fire
The forest ignites

A rainy day

It is difficult to think, in this season, of anything but the dismal gray of politics and the economy. Wouldn't it be nice if instead our thoughts danced on about how good the grass tastes when it is wet, and how the mountains look with a light mist shroud? I'd like to set my mind alight with those kinds of things...