A gentle pace

Down a dry trail

switchbacks going lower

light only cracked

through webs and mossy pine.


It seems like time

gets slower with each step

each footprint down

on the way to nowhere.


This sagebrush field

littered with black stump scars

the wind now rests

only to catch its breath


Focus on now

for the rest is unsure

focus on dirt

focus on all that's front


now, leave your mind

your feet will talk for you.


Lost again in the twilight

of a fading backwoods glow.

Purple light almost black.

The nightly chirp of birds

not seen but only heard.

Calling their brethren home before dark.

And then silence.

All is attuned in this hour where the night owls still wait

and the creatures of the day find solitude

in shelters like this tent.

If harmony can only last for a few sacred minutes

in the deepest realm of nature

then how can those who are so lost in the plight for themselves

ever wish to attain anything near it?

The time for thought is broken

by the croaking of toads and frogs 

longing for the one thing that keeps this slow train chugging along.

Sounding like cacophony to me, I remembered hearing

frogs ears can only hear the croak of the same species.

But there is pace and rhythm in their nonsensical calling

and it drifts me to sleep,

the place of forget and the place of okay.

Tomorrow more walking,

more thoughts.


The dull cresent moon shines

on the small tent

backed against the pine

in this far place

where the passing bear is

even weary

about his surroundings.

The End

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