To Skilak Lake and beyond

The evening slowly drew a deep shadow over the low lying places in Skilak Lake. The sense of excitement, of the light at dusk moved me to find a place to see the changes come. Sometimes though, the reason for setting out changes, when something else draws the imagination off the track.

I struggled up the trail, fording a run-off, which cut a pathway through the melting ice. On this side of the hill, the snow still hung in view. So I moved as quickly as I could, since the light was dimming. How much I wanted to view the Lake beyond, to view the turquoise waters and snow gathered mountains, within which it hung. Soon I was in the open. Here the remnants of an old burn, of blackened trees, naked of limb, formed a screen between the lake and me. But something else caught my attention.

To the East was the Pass from where we'd come. A new vantage of sight filled in my lack of understanding. Now I had a reference point of sight from which to make new plans for wandering here. A new world of possibilities tumbled through layer after layer of wonder. A feeling now issued forth from some hidden source of desire, making my hopes grow brighter as to the path I'd take. The big view was a map of future hikes and views. I couldn't guess what other things now lay in store. The days reveal themselves in ways we can't always know. Still, I know the element of surprise can always open new doors.

The view beyond

Down here I watch the mountain tops. And here in this swamp my mind sleeps, buried deep,in sunken ground. And around this place the pathways seem like spider webs of wandering.But above the gloom, in the frozen mountain tops, there is the openness of sky and unencumbered views. As In life, it's all the same: some find themselves trapped in swamps of ignorance, when outside their tiny rounds, a larger and grandeur look is waiting to be found.

Yesterday's Dream

Now each new snowfall no longer stayed, leaving its freshness for but an hour or a day. Around the trees dark circles formed, and from their bases outwards melted the snow. Now areas of earth did form, while the snow decayed. It was not the snow of the colder times, not even the type found in thaw and freeze-- it was the kind that told of Winter's end, of melting by heat.

Then one Noon time, following a flurry of snow, I walked through the forest again. Everywhere I saw the signs, lodged in the limbs or lying in the depths, the freshness of new snow. But the sun was at work, melting all it touched. In other places it was the same.

Further within the woods I saw a spectral sight: Here the sun had revealed the remnants of soft fresh snow. The fluffy masses of white seemed a fountain emerging from the earth, flowing out across the ground. For a moment I remembered when such effects were common in the darkness of a wintry day.

But I gazed at this passing scene, as when the last wave of foam had lighted upon the beach, but had lost its power to remain, and now was drawn back into the depths from where it came.

The Naked View

Spring Light, dazzling on the snowy slopes, fills now the niches with delicate strokes. I found such a place, and I wander here on most days. I found a place where small spruce have made a home. Their textured limbs play out against the softness of the snow, and the light brings them out from the darkness. Even the sky above with a wisp of cloud, echoes back the movements of sun-lit strokes; and earth and sky become a window joining up the intervening space of upper hill. Along the edges of this frame, limbless trees, combine with the street lights on the hill top above, forming a larger shape through which the eye scans the distance view. In time, if left alone this place will fill itself with a forest of spruce, and the view shall be lost.

The Mountains of Reveries

They lie there, a cold and pristine sanctuary, where lakes hide inside the hollow spaces beneath the peaks. My eyes dwell there but can't see the hidden things around the corners or beyond. On ridge or top the details are known to those who venture off the trails. When summer returns the colors of meadow flowers, of shrubbery and trees, shall once again paint the scenery there. And I imagine I'll be also upon the alpine carpet and talus slopes, gathering height to see further and beyond what I've seen today. So I find a way to travel, to know and feel, what new glory waits inside the Mountains of Reverie.

The Hidden Order

The hidden order likes to echo in shapes and forms. Curves and lines combine to give variety in trees and stream beds. The bent and dried stalks of cow parsnips bend to make triangles in the snow. Then on sunny days the shadows describe the forms in shadowed lines, running along the surfaces, into cracks like piano keys, playing with intervals of visual music. The eye takes in these sights, but the objects only blind the mind to the relationships--where the deeper voice is heard.

The Call of the Geese

High above the roof tops, against the very sky itself, a long thread of geese fly north across the city. How uncanny, I thought, how a large number of birds could keep this line intact. A deeper force of Nature holds them to a pattern, guiding them over mountains and open gulfs, on a long distance journey back to their birth places. I hear the call of the geese as the days roll into the faint beginnings of summer. Some things in this world are not tied to human will, but serve a higher power that is linked to the ages, moving in cycles and the turning of the world.