Holding onto the wind

Seeking solace in the high country. Looking for an answer. I know not who to ask. Don’t even know the question, so it seems some days.

Don’t get me started, this is a tangent that could take me far and wide, just please let me share this with you. I was given an answer I still need to understand. Maybe it will take a lifetime. I am in no rush. I will do my best to enjoy it all. The journey. Spread my wings and soar. Where the wind takes me. For she is far stronger than I am, and will blow long after I am gone.

And for no reason at all, I find myself lost. Even with the Yellow Brick Road winding before me. No matter. Somewhere within me, there is the lost child still doubting, questioning, afraid. I once read one should comfort her, but days like this, I’d rather tell her to grow up and get over it.

Tightness in my stomach, the same I remember on test day at the end of the semester, thirty, forty years ago. Come on, still?

Really, I hate that feeling. I see no good reason for it. Self induced stress. I used to think I should listen to that internal voice, inner wisdom, perhaps she is warning me, portending an unforeseen doom. Time has taught me otherwise. More often than not, it’s nothing more than my over active imagination and my under active sense of security flaring up.

Indulge in a desire for comfort, or get tough and get over it. Let’s choose the latter.

I woke early as I often do and looked briefly for a shooting star, having read the night before there may be a good show. Thirty seconds pass. Long enough. Nothing. If there was to be a “sign” it would have showed itself by now, I told myself. I’m not forcing it.

A sign. What am I expecting?

Don’t expect. You know? Just be open. And the signs arrive in a timely manner. Far better than if forced.

So there I am in the late afternoon, working on the water system for the cabins with Bob. And overhead I feel then see. A hawk.

Not just any hawk. But the one that joined us for the first time this summer and sat perched on the dividing fence or the cedar post by the barn as I fed each morning. The one that I am pretty sure reduced the Morning Dove population, not to mention helped with the onslaught of rodents that flourished in the long and mild summer.

He circles, the hawk, flying in from the south, loops around the dog and me, lands at the tip of the big spruce tree next to our cabin. Grandfather Tree, we call that one, with the tree house Forrest built when he was nine. So high I still have never been up there. I suppose that was the purpose, knowing I was afraid of heights as I’m sure he did even then.

Odd to see him now, this hawk, any hawk. All seem to have left a month ago, as the small birds were heading south and before the ground squirrels and moles had tucked themselves in for the season. What brings him back now? The ground is silent, covered in a thin blanket of white. The air too is silent, except for the group of Steller’s Jays that come begging each morning and the pair of Ravens that always stay.

I have missed the hawks, all their variety and interest and tension they circled our little bit of sky with this year, but understood their need to leave. Why return? What will he eat? I need not worry, Bob assures me, when he can fly fifty miles in a day. How easy for him to find lower elevation, open ground and a meal in a matter of hours. The whole world is not white. Just our little bit of mountain, up here at ten thousand feet. I forget sometimes.

We make eye contact. He does not move. Not for me entering the house below him to retrieve my camera, the dog barking, Bob pulling around in the truck.

I don’t notice until I look at the pictures I took. The waxing moon behind him.

I thank him. I am not sure what to believe, but I believe something, and something is better than nothing on days like this. In fact, right now I think something is… enough.



On yet another tangent, for anyone interested or curious, I’ve just updated our Lost Trail Ranch website (http://www.lost-trail.com/). Starting to take reservations for next year. Geez, time flies. It’s not even winter yet, and here I am planning next summer. I must be growing up.


Oh, and the poem below – more re-working going on here.  This one originated this time last year, away from Colorado, in the northern part of Washington State.  (Wanted to upload an audio file of the reading of the poem, but still can’t figure how.  If you can help me out, please write.)

Thoughts? Suggestions? Pointers? And yes, even criticism? (I can handle a little, but just a little…) Oh, and Harold, the spacing is starting to make more sense to me when I read it aloud… but still seems so random at times.




Seduction of earth and sky


the sky appeared
above as a
familiar lover
I have not slept
with in years but
still haunts me

in my dreams
spread out on
top of over next
to entwined with

I vaguely
recognized the
warmth against my
back wind like lazy
fingers through loose
hair a familiar sweet
musky breath

swelling wide
above me was
bright and blue
clean and open
a crisp dry
chill through my
nose and throat
and lungs as we
climbed the
hillside on the
clearest day we
have witnessed

since moving here
it took me
there and I was
reminded there
was not where I wanted
to be I left
for a reason
for a hundred reasons

and still I
look back and
see an attractive
comfort and that
entices me

it is hard to
let go of
what you had
when you have
no clear
picture of what

you have
so we are
seduced by
desires of the
past holding tight to
false hopes that
we may carry
knowns and givens
with us the familiar
lover you cannot
leave because a warm
body in bed
is better than
no body at all

at least that
is what we are
often told I

challenge that
assumption easy

for me to
do as my lover
lies safe and warm
beside me
and the thick gold
band on my finger
combined with my
stubborn sense of

reminds us both we
will watch each others’
wrinkles spread like
hoar frost down
by the river bank
and still lie
next to one another
and spoon close on
cold nights many
years from now


we find
ourselves out
under a low grey
sky hats and
shoulders turning
amid the first good
snow of the season
as we walk in
the dream state
first days in a
new place seem
to necessitate

and for today

at least I
am freed of
the burden of
the seduction of

the dazzling blue



14 thoughts on “Holding onto the wind

  1. Gin, indeed, the line breaks are getting so much stronger. I’m glad you haven’t made them any shorter. Can you see that each stanza is actually one long line fleshed out to choreograph its energy at a deep level (perfectly orchestrated, beautifully done!), and that each stanza can also be a single page in a short book, interspersed with your images? I wouldn’t want to overdo it. That blue at the end, with the photograph, is perfect. So much gets said between the words and the image. Great set-up! How much your country is like our Cariboo and Chilcotin, too.

    • Reading aloud, and then hearing the recording (which I figured out how to do, thanks to Forrest, just have not figured how to post that recording yet) seem to help with getting an understanding of the line breaks and stanzas. Will continue to “play” with this, and so very much appreciate your… friendship.

      We looked at land in Chilcotin and Cariboo – very enticing area – more wild, less populated (though the nearest human being to me today is probably 18 miles away…), but there is something about this Colorado sun that I have trouble living without. That said, the wanderlust is not yet fulfilled…

  2. A fairly elegant free audio solution is at Soundcloud – they allow up to about an hour and a half of audio for free and they give you a special upload for wordpress that puts a player imbeded into your page – also allows comments to be made at any point in the audio connected to the location in the audio – I just put a couple of music tracks on my blog this way and am impressed… cheers!

    • Fantastic – thank you so much – I’m running out now but will spend some time later today looking at how it’s worked for you, and give it a try! Thanks again – I really appreciate your help.

  3. Just back in time to pick up your blog with that stunning hawk photo with the moon. Wonderful.
    Maybe wanderlust comes with all the movement of summer people moving beyond and away?

  4. The hawk and the moon indeed are signs. I find that nature brings me messages regularly. The interpretation is shaped by how open or closed my heart is to working through life’s little questions.

  5. I live in a NYC suburb, nowhere as wild or isolated as your home…and yet a red-tailed hawk landed on my 6th floor balcony railing and looked deep into my eyes. My husband (a pro photographer) was at home and snapped a photo as it was almost an ubelievable experience.

    The hawk landed at a very difficult time in my life. I think the message is clear…soar, glide and look down with detachment.

    • The hawk as a powerful messenger. Especially when appearing where they do not “belong,” where we do not expect to see them – over winter white fields, on a sixth floor balcony, flying in one’s dark doorway…

      Funny how so many put great power and prestige in the eagle, who I still see as a scavenger, finishing the remains of hunting season and removing slow and spawning fish coming into the waters where they began only to find their end.

      How do we heed the signs, the messages, they so strongly carry? Think of the voice of the Red Tail… the sound of faraway laughter, whispering to loved ones, stirring bones…

  6. Those are lovely photos, Gin. You’re an enthralling writer – but don’t neglect your potential to make a living through images. In a busy world where true literacy is so rare, many people (I think) prefer to look at pictures. Sometimes it’s their only window into the wonderful world that you are so kind as to share.

    I feel your tension over ‘the answer’. I’ve lost my grip upon ‘the question’, whatever that fragment of fata morgana might have been, real or imagined, as I walked in circles. Maybe nowadays I don’t look so far afield for enlightenment, and I’m happier to borrow ideas from inspired people whose tracks I cross. The trail seems like a quest to discover what I should be asking.

    I used to love the blue skies and bright days of the mountains. I think that is what I miss the most. That and the silence of high open spaces. Now I live in a grey almost maritime place and fight ennui daily through winter. It’s a good thing that the mountains taught me a little self-reliance….

    • Definitely wish you lived closer… at least this side of the ocean… to occationaly share the depths of the winter blues. Not to mention a horse ride (or a few), a glass of wine (or a few), magnificent mountains and creative inspiration. Thanks too, Julian, for your mention of the pix. I am having a hoot with the new camera.

  7. I’m looking for a little meaning too. When I was small a hawk perched in an old oak tree I was laying under, and just watched me for at least 10 min. When I told my nieghbor, who was babysitting at the time, she said that it was protecting me from something.This afternoon I saw one circling overhead, looking down at me as it did. What does it mean when a hawk circles you? I once heard that when a hawk circles a soul, death is sure to follow what the soul loves most. Is that true?

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