Glass fragrance of fragments of time

fall gently from the sky

***

like tiny paper doves

sending a moment

of peace from the heavens

down to blanket the earth

with a frozen

***

opportunity

***

to appreciate

the life we have been gifted.

I was born on the forest floor,

among jagged stones and summer moss,

raised on morning dew and the screams of crows.

I learned to walk in autumn fog,

watching trees claw like fingers through a veil,

grasping- always grasping- towards the sky.

I stood alone in winter silence,

watching fractals of immortality spiral down,

burning at bare skin before winking into nonexistance.

.

.

.

and you call me feral

as if the aching of this untamed soul

is something to be ashamed of.

There’s a place I like to go where I feel the rawness of nature. Sitting there, my soles connected to the leaf-strewn earth, the northwest wind drifting across my face, I feel it down to my very core. I tilt my head to catch every last ray of warmth yielded by the sun and gazing across the fields of oaks and yellow grass intermingled with green shoots, I see the hills turn into mountains where the trees break away into pines and redwoods, and the mountains rise into snow-capped peaks stretching high above the treeline as if reaching up for God.

I take a breath of cool tranquility and I feel the profound oneness pervading every molecule of this earthly crust, the invisible tug of nature grasping at my fingertips.

The resonant buzzing of bees fills the stillness of the languorous afternoon air. Feeling a tickle at my ankle, I notice a tiny insect crawling upwards. Clinging to my leg, it slowly scales the summit. From a bug’s eye view, I am its entire world, and, like a fly caught in your car window that becomes an unwitting stowaway toward parts unknown as you cross the state, I hold this creature’s fragile life in my hands.

Hearing a euphony of chatter and song above me, I look overhead at the knotted limbs of the grand oaks nearby and clustered all around. Sparrows and starlings congregate among the lower branches, hummingbirds and kinglets flit about in restless activity. A mockingbird dutifully drills a pattern of holes in rings around the bark, while a pair of crows further off undertake their sentinel watch near some grazing cattle and a sharp-eyed hawk rests high on its lofty perch.

These creatures of woodland and field reside in harmonious complexity, the circle of life unbroken for generations untold.

I am a guardian of the lesser creatures, steward of the habitats that house the greater ones, and a participant in the behaviors and habits that impact every one of them, both large and small.

I feel this connection, this solemn responsibility, deep inside as I mingle my breath with the wind and my essence with the earth. Grounded by unseen roots running to the center of the planet, my soul synchronously rises in gentle confluence with cosmic currents.

In my singular position, I am the link between earth and sky. Creature and Creator. I am a vessel bearing attributes both mundane and divine. And even as I leave my berth of solitude, this breath of nature—within me and without and all around—is always near.

I am truly amazed at how beautiful, delicate and flimsy a butterfly’s wings can be. Every little flutter of its tiny wings reveals a new color, pattern and shade. It perches itself atop the rosiest flowers and proceeds to suck their sweet nectar as it basks in the warmth of the sun’s rays.

a common question that i ask people i've just met

sunrise or sunset?

everyone has a differnt answer

for their own reasons

but i personally choose sunrise.

let me describe why for you.

when i wake up in the morning

in central california,

the first thing i love to do

is step outside, into a new day.

during this season, autumn,

the morning air is crispy

and it bites my nose, turing

it pink if i stay outside too long.

the sun peaks over the moutins

her color blends in with the

clouds, turning them a soft pink

and orange.

dew drops cling to the grass,

jumping into the air

when i run my bare foot across

the surface.

the birds chirp, sitting happily in

their nests in the trees that surround

our homes, they greet me

goodmorning and sing

me a little three note song.

but my favorite thing

is the morning scent.

the air that is so fresh, so new

that when you breathe it in

and fill your lungs, it cures

every ounce of stress that you

carried with you through out

the night. for a second, it fades away.

but that brief moment, it makes

all the difference.

these are just a few reasons

why i believe the sunrising

and greeting with a hello

is more favorable to me

than the sun setting

and telling us

goodbye.

s.s.e

As I walk along the track I see a copperhead snake, basking on the dry rocks in a clear, running creek. The sunlight bounces off its golden brown scales, warming it with generous heat. It raises its head slightly, eyes open, comfortably relaxed yet alert; for a split second it displays a dark, forked tongue. The American tourist beside me gasps in amazement and horror.

A blade of grass sits in a field surrounded by its brothers. There is nothing but grass in sight, the field stretches for miles.

It is a peaceful life, that this grass enjoys, however short that life may be.

But it soon becomes apparent that this peace will end, as a strong wind begins to blow. overhead a dark cloud appears on the horizon.

The wind, that bends the grass and blows leaves in from the forest to the east, has also brought with it a large, daunting, cloud.

The cloud draws closer with each gust of wind, and the wind seems to be getting stronger.

It starts to feel like the little blade of grass will get ripped up from the ground. But the wind calms, and it begins to rain as the cloud pulls just overhead.

At first the rain is small, and barely effects the grass. But as the dark cloud covers more of the sky the rain falls steadily harder.

Soon the rain is falling so hard and fast that each drop bends the little blade of grass, and they seem to never stop coming.

Over, and over the blade of grass is hit with these harsh water dropplets. Will they ever stop?

Yes. Almost as soon as it began the storm starts to pass. The wind picks up. And as the cloud leeves the sky, the rain gradually gets lighter, until it eventually stops completely.

A black cat strolled in a thick forest, strutting as if she owned it.

She pounced and killed a small bird, eating it then camping in the trees next to a human path.

A small black bear crossed the path, followed by his mother black bear.

A small murder of crows flew down and pecked at the ground, hoping to find seeds at the foot of the oaks and pines.

The black cat layed there, silently watching nature in the shadows up high.

She quite enjoyed doing that, and being able to see different animals without them scaring her off.

Two raccoons crossed the path quickly, followed by a big wolf who was likely chasing them.

Three humans crossed the path once, and two cougars followed them on either side of the path.

A few minuets later the cat heard screams from the humans, and one came running back the path.

The cougars were just protecting the territory. The molly thought, hopping down to the ground from a lower branch.

Don't think you're

stronger

little tadpole

because I'm an

angry demon hoping

someone will

f

a

l

l

into my cunning scheme.

I slip through the endless deep

watching your clumsy body go

thump

thump thump

thump

to the thirsty side of the river.

I will hunt you down

day or night

rain or snow

you're a puppet on my string

a clueless victim

unaware of my attack

unaware of my hunger.