I   heading off

Off to wander in

the Catskills-

called mountains by many. 

Rather a plateau

dissected, eroded

sharp in relief;

the work of waters coursing 

through ages long ago and still.

Heaped with sediments 

of the ancient Arcadians;

round old tops-

old by my reckoning

not so by the measure of time.

Exposed sandstone 

faces sheer-cheeked

sport grey-green living beards.

Stern visages contemplate

patiently

their turn to topple 

toward the mighty Hudson 

yet to come.

 

II   questions

In search of myself 

bound for somewhere

where I cannot hide.

Where carved-out caves

and tree root lean-tos

hang onto eroded slides.

Beneath the verdure of arching 

leaf and branch 

might I find such a place?

III    Platt’s Clove

Bright blue chicory blooms

wild by the side of the road 

bend their heads 

point with petaled fingers

to show my way up

up into the grey sleep still

hovering close 

over the early morn

hiding the immensity 

of horizon’s capture.

The car climbs coughing

through close green tunnels 

under opened-wide sky;

following the cliff-edge

winding tight, white-knuckled

nose-to-wheel. Grateful am I

for covering mists

for the chasm dizzies my mind

then, reaching the trailhead 

on top!

 

IV   Overlook Road

Bound for the sea

long and down rush

foaming waters

wearing away rock-

but imperceptibly

to mine eyes

as they descend.

At the bottom of 

a swirling pool rests 

eternity 

for a moment. 

I reach for a smooth wet stone

hold it in my hand.

V    at the falls

Across the creek’s gape

above a cliff in shadow

where the falls drop off

against the daylight

a solitary squirrel

with curling tail appears in 

silhouette.  He at 

the edge pauses, then leaping

Gone

 

VI   bluestone quarry

What wonders be these massive 

stone monoliths

suspended somehow in time

above me below me vertically 

sitting on the face of the world!

Once cloven and quarried 

their transport needing

rails, roads; created commerce

opportunity for the few far-

sighted, deep-pocketed captains;

crisscrossing our country

paving the city streets of America

with the sweat of hard labor,

the sheen of hard bluestone. 

One short century later 

the plateau has overgrown wall

buckled bridge

reclaimed all trace of progress

as its own.

VII    forest

Among  tatters of once  

vast hemlock woods  

lie still and long

along the forest floor-

great girth’d boles

bared of bark, hollowed out

food for toadstool and grub

returning to the soil.

Smell of good earthy decay rises

revealing all that is well here.

Among stubs of trunks-

a newly snapped spear 

jagged-edged

deltas across a moss’ed wall

showing green needles

her hurt fresh, deep

fatal it would seem but

not yet.

While older, once-living 

wood sentinels

encased in brown and green fuzz

surround, protect her.

VIII   quiet

Green as summer could want

alive with a stillness 

which whispering 

warblings of nearby birds

through quiet leaves

bring unto my ear; 

untouched until

playful zephyrs wind their way 

through it to my head.

My head- pounding still

with worldly noise

hateful, angry voices 

everywhere inciting 

disquiet, discord  

equal in intensity

to their dissonant wail.

 

IX   for balance

I long to 

travel smooth river rock creek beds

bare in late afternoon light

bearing marks of other 

2-legged wanderers

perhaps seeking balance 

as well.

Looking to small stone cairns 

stacked in the rippling stream

suspended in balance 

for a time 

for now in harmony 

it would seem

with wind and water.

Representing my own

desire to stand,

search for balance,

realize the time to stand and wait

with tall brother trees

under billowing clouds. 

Content to wander 

green round humps 

rising over my head.

X   breathe

A clean fresh start 

is in the air 

climbing over hills.

Sweetened, warmed with 

the forest’s exhaled breath;

drafting down into 

my face, my lungs. 

Mine own breath becomes

one with the sky.

Saved from the Vanity

(for all things are so, saith the Preacher)

of humanity  

by the obedience of root and twig!

Drawn I am to follow laughing water

loud over rock and ledge, 

stream and fragrant meadow-

how I need them!

 

XI  sky

The sway of nature

lives, at work inside me

as I ask

What could it possibly take 

what more than the blue 

above my head 

to understand

my own frailty? 

To be content;

alive in the world again.

 

XII   beginning

Today the Devil’s Path

lies in front of me

as states the roadside sign.

It is fitting.

A rocky painful climb portends. 

It is good

for through pain healing comes.

My spirit is broken…

I release those words from 

the pit of my anguish 

that they may fly far from me!

Deep into the darkness of the past

where hope cannot tread

I must return blindly stepping

over gnarled and tangled tracks

whence I left my light-

to rekindle the flame

if there is a spark 

faith has hidden.

I approach. 

It grows brighter. 

The heat of my tears burns 

clean these swollen eyes.

I can see. 

I am alone 

again with myself;

with a journey 

to be remembered

lest the lessen be lost