Feral
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.
Breath of Nature
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.
sunrise.
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 Small Peek Of Nature
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.
Crown of Twigs
The tree and bush in my backyard now hold hands. Perhaps after a storm or maybe from animal creation, a branch fell from the tree onto the bush and the bush's twigs grew wrapped around it, creating a little bridge. I admire it when I take my dog out, as smart squirrels use that little bridge to get into the tree and get far away from my barking monstrosity. It came from nowhere, as I noticed it on a day in June after a long day at work, a fully grown entity, and I wondered how long it had been there. How long had these trees been communicating about this fallen branch? Had they communicated at all or did the bush see the tree struggling and help it out? Nature is wonderful sometimes.