Mystery, fog, love and flowers. Days in brightest morn, rain, sideways in the windy afternoon. Welcoming birds desperate for me to answer or for once perhaps listen. Streetcars, slow meandering walks admiring flowers on the lower mountains.

Soft sand, sun washed sandals threatening to split. Always and never. Repaired, no longer simply existing to meet deadlines and expectations, but dreams. Far off rivers threatening to crash and crush the stones below. Admiring simply out of wonder.

Forgotten pathways. Praising in silent worship. Trees standing guard as my patience dwindles and the stars call me so slumber. Dirt, that moist greeting of forest floor, repels the weights and bundles that this world wants for me to carry.

hand rails and desert dwellings, cactus and naked climbs hardened bright-red in baking summer. Snow holding on to memories of Winter, far above the Eagles circle, somehow knowing that there will come another tomorrow. Fresh roasted pine and sandstone wait.

Some will worry never listening nor caring for the voice in the calm white distance. Ride the range, embracing loneliness as treasure that you know will never leave you. Avoiding idle thoughts of mastery and learned struggles that taught us navigation and recovery.

Is there a late stage plan you wish to employ. Another chapter yet finished begging for ink on pages. The days of solemn anchor. Nearby a tiny kitten wanders if you’d feed or give him safety and place to sleep. Yesterday was my best yet, a slow steady string of walks by fire.

The Cool, quiet and unmoving madness of chaos given up for a moment. Planning catastrophe by daybreak. Soldering-iron eyes melding and molding each moment in alabaster, nightmare and orderly procession. Waiting for the bell to toll and wind to call.