Going Nowhere.

As the leaves turn full and fat and green

and wilds swell moist and plump and prolific

and views enshrouded in cool grey veils

and mornings frost and afternoons wash us away

 

As flowers burst forth and fruit attempts to ripen

and seeds within are scattered without

so far yet from fruition but emerging

coming to a life not yet realized

 

River voice speaks loudly

monotone and constant

And I vaguely remember the in and out

pulse and surge of waves

 

But we do not have that here.

 

Pale silver morning dew

frosted on tall green grass

already turned to seed

that this year may wash away

rather than scatter in the winds

 

Waving silky laden pregnant with promise

I do not know their names

any  more than I know the names of flowers or birds

as they know them not and care not too

 

Only appreciate my recognition:

the blue one, the dear one,

the silly one that lights atop the outhouse,

the yellow one that blooms beside the door.

 

Geese grow their young and feathers of flight

and coyotes are wisely silent

and crow sits on the rock watching her mate

feeding her child now the same size as she

 

And the river barely lowers her voice on this year

that the snow gathers energy to return early

on this lush ephemeral season

which I will watch pass

 

And through which I will remain

now apart of where I tried to leave

finding roots sinking spreading taking strong hold

through bedrock without my blessings

 

Ah yes, and now they got me.

 

And here I am

and shall remain

beside nameless flowers

and familiar songs of birds and wind

and grasses bursting with next year’s life.

old mans beard

 

elephant heads

 

penstimon

 

The season is short.  How long until the winter coat begins to grow again?

Time to get to work.

Got a house to build, a business to run, school to study, bellies to fill, another move to make… and another book to complete and the next one softly raps against the door, waiting for room to come in.

A tremendous time of change.

Time to turn within and focus at the work at hand.

Spilling over, now is the time of bounty.

Expansion in retreat.

And though the writing room is being built and new books are spilling into fruition, for now I am taking a rest from sharing articles for a while.

I’ll touch base from time to time, a way to keep grounded and connected and remind you I care, because I hope you know I do.  In the meanwhile, please keep in touch if you’d like – write me directly or via this web site (sorry, I no longer use other social media and prefer to keep it personal instead).

Until the next time we meet…

norman

 

on pasture

 

7 thoughts on “Going Nowhere.

  1. Thank you, Gin! It is good to hear from you. I hope to meet you up at the ditch if I can. Work is crazy busy, and I need to get into the wilderness whenever possible.
    Anne

    • I have always admired and respected your understanding and connection with the Wilderness and know that’s why you are there. See you out there soon, we hope too!

    • Thanks, John, for the heads up, as well as the great work you guys are doing. We will be working up the Weminuche during that time. I’m glad to be so busy working, as an easy excuse to avoid social calls (I’m a little awkward to say the least) and would always be happier avoiding my husband’s brother no matter! He’s spent enough years working against us, so good to hear he’s being put to some positive work! Enjoy, good luck, and be safe, and thank you again for all the good work!

  2. Your writing room is being put together. Now that causes the little chime in my soul to be struck. Good to read your senses, Gin. Good to have some time away from hot sun, dry earth and vigilant care of water.

  3. Gin, FYI a group of San Juan Back Country Horsemen (and Women) are working at Thirty Mile Stock Unloading Area later this week – Thursday through Sunday – building a couple of rock low water crossings in the river there, and doing some downed tree clearing work on the Squaw Creek Trail. I understand one of our folks has conned Bill G. into bringing a Bobcat to help us move gravel (gravel courtesy of Randy Riggs), maybe. A few people are camping at Thirty Mile, some are staying with Freemon’s to be closer to the burgers. Stop by if you folks get a chance, would enjoy seeing you.

  4. Gin,
    So lovely. I love these lines:

    Pale silver morning dew
    frosted on tall green grass
    already turned to seed
    that this year may wash away
    rather than scatter in the winds

    I’ve been thinking of you and wanted to let you know.

    I love you,
    Melody

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