RipRap

Returning

Well I hope to be writing here more often. I got out of the blogging habit and miss it a bit. Spent the day Friday hiking the Wesley Preserve and then Mendon Ponds. A glorious day of warmth and sun. Tonight, snow returns to the North Coast, my son Jackson took the garbage out and returned with this years first snowball.

Friday Hike

I am in the vortex of swirling blue, broken by umber arcs of the branches of an Oak. The last warm wind of November twitters a lone leaf, torqued by it's own drying, stubbornly clinging to its thin twig extension. The tessellations of the air around us engulf the curvature of my right arm and palm that rests gently against his trunk. He stands alone, in a minor clearing of tall grass and Milkweed. The raucous chickadees in the stand of saplings to the left has been silenced by my lumbering approach. As I lean in the afternoon, I hear a loud flutter and my awareness attaches to the red flare of a male Cardinal that lands at the edge of the stand.

 

I turn my awareness back to the Oak and the energy that flows through the conduit of my arm. Tenderly, each individual finger presses into the furrows of the tree skin. Inhaling I relax my gaze, I feel the small swirls of energy in my forehead, heart, and navel gently shift and come into alignment with this great being; with his presence.  This is how we speak, palm to bark.

Junk

Spread across

pages, junk,

detritus, hunks

of cabbage,

grape leaves

tossed in a heap

of verbiage.

Gloss,

dental floss

covered in weak

gum blood leaks

across flattened papyrus

in an antiquarian.

Land mines loose

meanings lanyard

meanderings of flowocitical curves.

We pick through minutia

with tweezers,

scissors, pluck them

in metaphorical

lumpectomizations.

Lobotomythic citation

excursions in humus.