Driving to the
Trailhead
my little white world
inside a swan
sailing upon a
greater world
four-wheel-drive
engaged
leaving Pinedale on
the rising tide
like a bird floating
lightly
almost flying
on exhilaration and
faith
soon I’ll make
landfall
in the larger, lovelier,
statelier
and steadier world
of Bridger Wilderness
and New Fork River
in misty distance
a tabernacle promised
built with limestone and
granite
chipmunks and squirrels
according to
scripture
a river runs through
it
and maybe a bear
it flows by the
throne of God
wide is the road
that leads to
destruction
narrow the way to
truth
and few there be who
find it
 |
| New Fork Fire of 2008 |
a virus in 1918 killed the old
in WWII, the young
our turn now
the rise of the young
and the trail goes on
and the trail goes on
once as I was passing a field
a white-bark aspen
trembled its leaves
and became a white-skin
girl of ten
hiking in Eaton
Canyon
her feet shuffle and
jump
planning three or four
leaps ahead
but she plopped in
the creek
without a scratch
a bouquet for you
as you enter the
tabernacle
and another blood red
the place is adorned
with flowers
to aid in worship
that nobody
understands
and everybody loves
flowers are for
lovers
and every lover needs
a flower
slow and careful he
should be
no hummingbird for me
he stays around
for the photo
shoot
These mountains were here millions of years ago, but not the beholders, the humans who see beyond food and safety. Once we met, hearts grew wings, and perhaps the mountains knew they were loved, even needed. We want requited love, but settle for the beauty of One who does not need us.
The tabernacle’s based on granite, which rose from the dead long ago when buried under earthly rock like the limestone you see here. Most of those old rocks are washed away now, but this outcrop remains to show us what we lost and what we gained when the much harder and stronger granite came to form a tabernacle for our pleasure and inspiration.
Michael Angerman is making a map of nightly locations, as he has done for many of my trips. Please see Michael's Map
Dear Sharon
ReplyDeletehow does it get so quiet here? Sometimes the longer we follow our own trail we see the maze it is and then we become very small again and land on the center of our own flower. It speaks to us and doors open like wings ...or a mouth.Do we answer with a flutter and stay? There you are at least for this moment in time
at least I think you are there...
will you fall asleep and wake up something else? I used to think I might.
night moths
and fireflies
do we pollinate the light
open the inner chamber
to hear a voice
Love from that 4 am hour again...dream talking
Kathabela
Dear Kathabela,
DeleteBefore this trip, I was landed in the “center of my own flower,” like that insect you see above in the yellow center with white petals radiating out and away as if, even while sucking sweet nectar, he was bored and maybe asleep. I tried to photograph the bees, wasps, and flies, energetically foraging from lupin to paintbrush, but they were too quick, too inspired, too poetic. And there, one of my own kind slept in the center of all that beauty.
Did I “fall asleep and wake up something else?” It always seems to happen that way. Maybe like Jim Bridger, the mountain man for whom this wilderness is named, or Henry David Thoreau, I should build a cabin far away and live out my time.
Thanks for the beautifully poetic walk. Must have been sacramental being there.
ReplyDeleteBill,
DeleteI can see how you connect the word “sacramental” with my impressions of where I was. With it’s religious suggestions and traditions in symbols of devotion and deep respect, the word is there—in the mountains, the flowers, the river running through, and the rocks so very old and underneath it all. A sacred place it seemed, awe inspiring, in the way a great cathedral inspires, yet not made with hands.
I'm as silent as a lodge pole listening in to the conversations, the beautiful tanka by Kathabela, the felt experience and your exquisite photos. Sacramental seems a very apt word. Lois
ReplyDeleteWelcome to my campsite, Lois.
DeleteI love seeing nature through your blog. It brings joy.
ReplyDeleteGlad to have you along, Kathleen
Delete