FALL 3 -- Cold Creek Notes
I feel the forest breath about me,
a white mist mingles though the grove.
Yellow lichens hang from trunk and bough,
illuminating the reaches of a hillside hollow.
Rain drops fall like snare taps to the forest floor,
following the rhythms of a pulsing breeze.
Vibrancy of gold, crimson and orange,
paint this realm against evergreen tones.
The smell of life fading its summer delight,
as the cold crisp feel fills my lungs.
Taking in with each breath, smell and sights,
the gifts which the season brings.
The sound of running water winding down,
through its rocky torrents.
White lace against the green of moss on rock,
streaking down towards lakes and valley far below.
Slowly unweaving a man from the city’s beat,
wandering footfalls lured me on endless miles of trail.
My pace changes to the new motion,
Working their way over root, rock and rill.
These same pathways, lead on to desert sands,
follow along high alpine lands.
But for now the subtle of fall’s touch to the forest,
finds me lost in the details of this small creek basin.
Purple rock and dark evergreen stands,
a mountains battlement rises above.
Clouds enveloping white talus fields,
highlights of color near warm fires delight.
The trail works it’s way thru the scene,
over the gap of rock and tree silhouette.
Leading down to the crowned shores,
a mirrored lake ringed by the sky.
Natures ornament of color,
more then the finest Japanese garden.
Zen masters of
Here balance and serenity flows,
from the brush of the Great Spirit paints.
An art man seems compelled to imitate,
yet always tilting towards natures pose.
Raven perched atop a fir,
watching intently, curiously eyeing.
I move through tarn and grove,
he follows, swooping among branches.
Air moves with whipping sounds,
each beat of his wings echo to me.
Answering caws and tilted head,
spirits call forth from the forest edge.
Pearlly Everlasting lines the trail,
white enchantments, the last to fade.
In summer’s fading grip,
the subtle surrounds and seeps in.
On cloud filled days the details abound,
leading the eyes searching out.
Toadstools and pixie cups cling to logs,
pushing up after the rains awakening.
Warm colors and cool air,
lingers the pace of the feet,
letting the mind dwell in the moment.
Be still as the seasons pass before me,
watching each leaf turn to winters grasp.
A fire of brilliance before the white blanket,
covers all again, into nature’s season of sleep…
-- Ridgewalker (Jorj) 山道人