4.26.16 Here

Here, in this dark place, the water laps and the rain falls.

Here, the light beckons and small winged ones fly silently past.

Here, time has stopped in its tracks. And all things about you remain within the deep green and the crisp rippled edges.

You breathe in and out, while the cool breeze

skitters across your face.

 

4.25.16 When I was 16 or 17

I remember being 16, 17, when finally we escaped parents and oftentimes supervision, and would find ourselves in some car, with friends, on a warm bright day somewhere we weren't supposed to be, doing things we weren't supposed to do, which just so happened to be the things we most wanted to do, because they were all filled to the brim with new and surprise endings and open and possible and as far away from the travesty of our upbringing as they could be. 

I remember getting everyone to stop the car so I could get out and pee, and I'd step into the roadside woods of wherever we were- some hilly shaded road far out in the country in Connecticut, or some measured highway in New York as we approached the city, 

and I'd watch as we all fanned out, exploring and wondering at the sheer amazement of the leaves and small places of brackish waters and new ferns making their way up into the world

and we would all get lost like that for awhile , til somebody got hungry or wondered if someone left the keys in the car 

and we'd untangle our long hair from brambles , find the shoes we'd escaped from , 

as we caught sight of each other climbing back out of the woods, grinning happily at each other, 

at the shared conviction that no matter how messed up we knew ourselves to be, we would create a life of meaning and creation 

and goodness and hope.

 

4.25.16 Someting quiet

The quiet isolated outwaters of 
The Connecticut

 

4.25.16 A blow-me-away day

The photo-bombing boyo beneath the blow-me-away clouds of the day.

 

4.25.16 So we set out

Down by the farmers' fields, the birds were singing full force and the dandelions and nettles were rising up out of the ground as only Springtime plants can.
So we set out for the flood plain lands under the tall older trees, off from the fields and the sunbaked dirt road.
Beneath the towering trees and their tiny emerging leaves were thousands of small ferns pushing up from beneath the thick silt and leaf bed, the prehistoric Horsetail stalks littering the swamps with their bright green colors.
Soon enough, the land will be filled with soft tall ferns and their intricate fronds, as the season progresses and heats up and dries out.
We finished tromping about and exploring where someone slept , hunted or grazed, and made our way back into life. Past furiously blossoming trees, 

and fluttering elegant catkins shimmering in the welcome sunlight.