Hush...Be Still

There is a voice

in the wind

so low and distant

it may never be

heard.

most do not listen

being distracted 

by the

drum and scrape of

cities

by the 

lure of 

highways

by the 
distraction of cell phones

and the

seductions and enticements
of life.

the voice does not
address the ear
but the heart.
it is an acquired voice
that is not shy with time
or reluctant to speak
in simple ways
those pompous
lofty hearts
surely miss.

but hush...

be still...

and you will hear the voice...

the small and gentle

voice...

calling... 

calling...

inviting you to join your heart

to the horizon.

to the endless

shimmering 

horizon. 

Master of the Obvious...#85 

The footprints you follow trend upwards and converge at a distant point on the horizon. And therein lies the danger.

 The Thinnest Membrane *

Midnight swallowed time

as I drove through New Mexico.

The vented window hissed 

streaming air

and I imagined

all the sleeping serpents

beneath that cold, full, desert moon.

The radio was nothing but white noise.

Was that my imagination

or was I hearing the muffled thunder

of hundreds 

of pony hooves

just out of sight

wending through caprocks and arroyos? 

Did I just hear the piercing scream

of a cavalry bugle 

and the rattle of breech loaders

sounding like ripping fabric?

Were those ghost riders flashing

in western sheet lightening

a hundred miles distant

among towering thunderheads?

Walden wrote

"Time is the river I go fishing in."

Perhaps the single difference

between the painted war ponies

between the yellow kerchiefed blue jackets and me

is our means of conveyance.

All things being equal

I prefer this empty highway 

and the rumble of my engine.

A thermos of stout

black coffee rests in the floorboard

in front of my passenger seat.

It's time for a roadside pit stop 

some blended bean

and a shake or two of my weary head.

That's when I heard the clear wail

of a wolf

just beyond the headlights 

of my pony car.

Be cautious as you venture

between the panorama of your imagination

and mystic veil of time.

There is the thinnest membrane between yesterday and you.

*From a memorable night trip in April, 1990

 Master of the Obvious...#84

The chief benefit of age is the joy of reviewing memories in the full light of day. 

 Master of the Obvious...#83

"Goodbye" is always prologue to "Hello."

 Master of the Obvious...#82

No matter how beautiful was yesterday, any effort to return to it is just going backward.

Listen to Me

You think you know me
so you shame me into 
being the man

you hope me to become.

You must listen to me
if I may prevail with you
and I pray you'll hear

when I say
you do not know the man 

I truly am.

I am a cloud walker 

and a storm talker.
I walk rutted paths.
I throw myself at mysteries

and sleep in histories.

I am sure of myself

and befuddled.

I know the winding way

and am lost.

You cannot know who I truly am.

I talk in dulcet tones 

And I leave behind
those who shout so loud 
they cannot be heard.

You cannot really know me.

 Master of the Obvious ...#81

Hold onto everything but wisdom lightly.