still hiking

I’ve tired of this 
       sitting while wishing I were walking
             or
       walking while wishing for a rest.
Seems whichever I choose, I can’t have my druthers
       my feet are doing one 
       while my head does another.
             They’re not birds of a feather
             but I’ll bring them together
       by flying while still in my nest.

So, here I am walking with my shoes in my pack
       so my feet can be felt by the ground.
I’m thanking the thorns and the sharpest of rocks
       for reminding my head to slow down.
I’m not in a hurry, cause I’m already here,
       the destination’s the journey, you know,
I’m just standing here rolling this earth ‘neath my toes,
       like an immense beach ball spinning below.  
I’m letting the trail do the hiking for me while
       this large grove of aspens glides by,
or now letting these switchbacks switch right back below me
       awaiting the approach of the sky.  
Oh the people I meet as our trails intertwine
       rekindle all faith in mankind,
I enjoy those who ramble impractical distances
       knowing each step there’s something to find.

The Creek’s Eyes

“What happened???”
      soap plant asks in amazement as it pokes its green tuft 
      of leaves into the sun after its hibernation,
      snuggled underground in summer slumber,
      in dry paper wrappers with the other wet season bulbs.
There is no reply from his few remaining charred neighbors.
Sourgrass,
      awakened by the first rainfall since April
      stretches out its dangly yellow arms,
      equally stunned,
but not disappointed with the new view of the ocean.
“Wildfire,” yawns rattlesnake,
      slithering into a den to sleep away winter:
            the frost,
            the mushrooms and mudslides,
      the canadian geese calling on their flight path south.
“The light contains all things and all things contain the light,”
      call the geese from overhead
      as they chase summer southward,
      quoting Dogen, I believe.

And here I am, sketching up an echoless canyon among 
      shadowless trees,
      thinking of how people are like
      floating bubbles on a stream,
           three-hundred and sixty degree traveling mirrors,
           reflecting the world and each other.
           arising and popping unexpectedly:
      the creek’s eyes.
And it’s fascinating to think of what plants and animals miss 
      out on in their cycles of dormancy-
           napping away entire seasons
      blind in their own cocoons.

Snacking now,
carefully peeling wrappers from a hard-boiled egg and some 
      sunflower seeds,
      a satisfied bubble enjoying the stream,
      I wonder about my own blind spots,
      which I quickly decide don’t exist,
since I can’t see them.

Insurance Policy

cairnbw

Insurance Policy

You can’t break the china if it’s already broken.
Can’t say nothing wrong, if you still haven’t spoken.
If you have no watch, you have nothing but time,
There’s still something to share, if you can’t spare a dime.

You can’t be lost if you don’t have a home.
New hairstyles happen when you don’t have a comb.
Can’t be out of touch, when you don’t own a phone.
There’s nothing to lose if there’s nothing you own.

When you don’t have a means, your life has no ends.
When you love those around you, you’ve nothing but friends,
No knickknacks to dust, if you don’t have a shelf.
When you’re part of the world, then where is your self?