Posted by | August 15, 2011 | In the woods, Poetry | 2 Comments

I’m reminded of a poem by Gary Snyder,
written while a fire lookout in the North Cascades.

Months at a time he’d spend in service and solitude.

From six stories up, I can see the attraction.
Sprawling topography of mountainsides and valleys, so much

softer from this height, stitched one to the other in shades of green,
patchwork blanket of pine and hardwoods. Hawks rising

higher and higher on thermals, still suspended far below.
Candid conversations with the wind. Graceful, shifting, gigantic

balance of dawn’s hue and starry dusk.
Active meditation on a passive existence. This tower,

like his, the center of its own universe, one
of billions of centers each revolving around each.

Tribes gathering in celebration.
A choir looking skyward for its voice.

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  • Sanders says:

    A great reminder of what can be observed (or thought of), when you have or take the time to notice such things.

    • fishingpoet says:

      And when there isn’t a snowball’s chance of cell service or internet access…
      I didn’t realize just how crowded/hand-cuffed/noisy/atrophied my brain was until I sat on the dock in the wide-open silence our first night.

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