My Old Friend
....time suspends as i watch this moment,
while other’s carry on with an already brisk made tea,
just as i still fetch my twigs for the making of a fire,
and i knowing that soon the world out there will start to clatter….
—-been days now upon this high trail,
where the few that continue on with me,
are oft given to fits of incessant chatter,
and so i walk over behind this tree to gather my silence….
—-food runs low and water is lower,
the ones that have remained will also go on back today,
i take my pencil and trusted notepad from sacred knapsack,
and pause to shape some words that may not get read….
—-i will not yet return to those damned cities below,
what use have i of crowd birthing strangers,
those ones who care not to look you in the eye,
and stores abound to sell plastic vinyl to that flatland crowd….
—-gathering life now as from this tree behind my back,
i sketch a view that stretches out in front of me,
mountains were made for men caring not to share their solitude,
just as these birches break ground with scraggy pine….
—-i pause now for my half ration of daily tea,
as i sip the herbs and water mixed within this cup,
feeling inspired-intoxicated my pencil so begins to pick up pace,
while the visions i see are carried forth to paper….
—-what use is the sky if men will not see the trees,
what care i for wood if i cannot feel your grains,
working faster now i labor to create a felt image on this paper,
as imagination gives birth to many likened images….
—-the days have past with healing to my mind,
just as i found water the day before last,
all who came have long since re-turned to base camp,
and i shall continue here beside this mountain lake a few days more….
—-my feet are steady now with the rhythm of mountain air,
just as i know that i too will once again re-turn,
i have tasted the smell of opened heavens cooked upon a mountain quest,
within these seasons of my life….
—-my canoe awaits for me,
back down the twisted path,
as now i place the pencil-notebook,
back within the sacred canvas sack….
—-what is a life if one cannot suspend and step outside of time,
just as this mountain calls my name and bids me to come again,
and i knowing that i shall yet come this way once more,
will not say goodbye but hello till we meet again….
....my old friend is a mountain older than i,
we spend days to-gether without the need of words,
his shadow crosses mine in height of sun at break of midday,
till by the glow of sunset i know the silence of moments blest….
”....i never knew a piece of wood that would not look me in the eye, or a tree that could not be counted on to give me a time of day, so yes one day i shall walk out of these crowded spaces, and re-turn forever beside that mountain lake….”
-- --frank, NH, http://rusticwoodart.tumblr.com/