post 1


For a moment, I look within.  Not too long.  It can be scary in there.

Not out side, at the trees, the mountain.

For a change, I don’t look around. My eyes are closed.  My heart is open instead.

I’m sitting in a perfect circle of exposed dirt at the base of one of my favorite big old spruce trees just a little ways up the Ute Creek trail in the Weminuche Wilderness.  My back is pressed against the rough bark and my snowshoes stick up before me boldly on the ends of my outstretched legs.  Gunnar is beside me of course, sitting, on the look out.  I’m safe.

Forrest’s Throne, we call this tree.  Another one with a name. For the many times we stopped here, stared out over the Rio Grande Reservoir in all her seasons, and he rested at the base enwrapped in the bulk of aged roots.

I am sitting there now, thinking deeply about what Amy shared in response to my last post.  Wisdom, insight.  More welcome when it comes from a friend, a dear friend of the family as she has become, though none of us have met her yet.  Perhaps the words she shared would not have rung so true if I was not battling this concern within my mind already.  A confirmation.  Drilling it in.

On anger.


Answers come.

Less with mind than with heart.


Anger moves, motivates, and must be left behind.

A hot coal under my seat.

I jump up.  Put out the flame.  Set back and breathe again. 

Balance the flame of passion, of anger, of how to draw the line.

Whatever happens, please don’t let me fizzle out and turn lukewarm.

And don’t let me burn too bright I scorch, burn myself, turn you away.



I will make mistakes.

As I will make love, and may make you mad.

Not intentionally, of course.

It’s just part of living life the fullest way I can.

At times, my heart acts stronger than my mind.

How does one find balance?


post 4



It opens my eyes, but closes my heart.

My eyes are open.

Now, it is time to leave it behind.


Will you see a gentler me?

I’ll try.

Though as a friend visiting the other day said, there’s something about those Jersey girls. 

Can I use my “spunk” (his word, not mine) in positive ways?

Yes, I can.

Just watch what I can do.


post 5



As a form of passion. 

Passion can be our greatest motivator and raison d’être.  

Or it can eat us alive.

Let it move me forward. But not leave you behind.


This is the message that came to me, Amy, in my walking meditation:

Get on the right path and watch doors fly open.

How do I get from here to there?

Step on board.

It’s that simple.


Move on.



Partner with the enemy.  (Your wise words, Amy, and those of Nelson Mandela.)

Just write and write well.

Show the intimate side of this situation. That’s what I can do.

Yes, leave the “why” behind. I am not a victim.

Turn towards the “what” and the “how” and the “where” and “when.”  Share what I see.  Be a part of the solution.

Maybe that’s why I’m here.

Stick with my path, share my gift, and perhaps you can use it, perhaps you will hear, perhaps it will help. And maybe it won’t. But at the end of the day, I’ll sleep better for believing at least I had the guts and grit (and spunk) to try.

To try.  To stand for what I believe in.

Without burning bridges.


post 3


Anger may be what got me started. 

I’ve started.  Now I can let it go.  Of the anger, not the path, not the movement. Anger will no longer bring me forward, only hold me back.  Leave those I care about behind.  That’s not what I really want, is it?

Let it go and replace it with… sharing my gift. Writing about the intimate view I have, I see, I touch and smell and taste and feel.  I am here for a reason.  Anger helped me remain here; anger helped me fight to be here.  I swear, if it were not for anger, I would be long gone by now.  It gave me strength when I needed it.  Now I own it.  I am here.  And it is time to leave that anger behind and move forward.

I don’t need to fight for it; Maybe I just need to listen to it now.  

Let me tell you what I hear.



I’ll tell you what I hear.  I don’t need to say more.

Where?  Where will I go?  How will I get there?



Share what I see. Share what I feel.

Look deeply, write passionately.  Bleed, as Hemmingway said and we writers will do.  Bleed, I do like the trees with their sap.  Bleed to share the life, the beauty, the reality of the world I live in, we both care for.  Passionately.


post 6


Our weather comes from southern Cal.  The rest of Colorado may be watching the Pacific Northwest and the Great Basin, but here in the southern San Juans, we watch what hits Baja and get excited when they get rain this time of year. That means we’ll get snow. 

So, the continued California drought concerns us.  We’ve been in what some say is a twenty year drought.  Call it what you will. 

Every year we hope.  Every day we watch the weather and look for another Big One.  And as is typical for this region, more often than not, it isn’t there. It isn’t coming.  Though don’t get me wrong.  It’s hard to complain about blue skies and sun. 


post 2


Back to my snow shoe.  Trying to balance that anger, that passion; working with you, not against you and still shaking things up without turning my back or having  you turn your back to me.

I return home after feeling I found the answers only to see the news.  Fires on the north side of L.A.

So the positive? The answers?  The direction that I long for, I lust for?

I’m still working on it… back to square one… something to do with trust in the Earth, and belief in her eternal beauty.

Call me what you will: angry, passionate, or a Jersey girl. But I do have that.

Belief in eternal beauty of our Earth.


post 7


3 thoughts on “Within.

    • Yes, Amy, I can handle that. I can work with it. I like it.
      And yes, that Throne is magic. Forrest figured that out way before me!
      Thank you, my friend. For everything.

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