They sustain us

They take in poisonous carbon dioxide,

and emit pure oxygen.

These massive Canyon Oaks grow on western coastal mountain ridges.

Rare giant canyon oaks like these can reach up to 90 feet in height.

These giants are growing in Mt. Palomar State Park which lies about 35 miles east of The Holler as a crow flies at 5-6000 feet elevation.

The acorns created by these Canyon Oaks provided critical sustenance to ancient peoples.

The Luiseno people’s metates, or ancient acorn grinding holes, are unmarked, but visible throughout the park.

Cheers to you from Mt. Palomar’s gentle, life-sustaining, giants~

Peace.

Quiet Stillness.

Gray sky.

Slight wind.

Thoughts project to a time when life was harder.

A time when the path was lost.

When the leader was not evident.

I am happy that those days are gone.

Poof!

Disintegrated.

Melted away.

The truly worthless events they were.

Well – not exactly worthless.

It has all been a journey.

I am grateful for every last destination along the way.

A small raindrop.

No worry.

I am sitting under an umbrella.

The same umbrella that allowed me to weather every storm along the way.

Hurricanes,

Earthquakes,

Floods,

Beatings.

No pain.

I can turn off the switch that allows me to feel it.

Go ahead –

Hit me harder.

I won’t feel it.

Not now anyway.

Maybe later.

Maybe 30 years later.

What’s that?

You say maybe you would prefer not to remember?

It is okay.

It is time to remember.

All you…

Birdless sky swells grey blue against
trees that stand like brushes 
stiff in the cold

It is the penultimate breath
of a new earth.

The dark disappears in a steadfast
philanthropy of color: red, orange, rose 
blush up from the land over lakes and hills 
and roof slats to tell the inhabitants

Night has not prevailed.

Earth  e x h a l e s
as the sun spills her promise.

Life is a string of memories.

Life is a string of memories.

In a dark corner of the attic
I opened an old tarnished and black,trunk.
To my amazement it was filled with cool stuff,
Handwritten screenplays ,sonnets and letters,
wrapped in ribbons carefully and placed.
Pictures in grey scale ,static yet stunned.

I felt a connection with time gone by,
how simple things were treasured.
Peacock feathers and roses hidden
in the silent guard of pages
now yellowed and torn.

while I spent some time here
the confession of time.
like a weight in my chest
made me realize how we hold on
to the pieces of the past
while we dream for our future

Really living for the day is living.
outcast the calender pitfalls,
let every toll of bell cast a new dream
who cares when we are gone.
cross the boundless ocean of time ,
gone or to come

In a dark corner of the attic
I opened an old tarnished and black,trunk.
To my amazement it was filled with cool stuff,
Handwritten screenplays ,sonnets and letters,
wrapped in ribbons carefully and placed.
Pictures in grey scale ,static yet stunned.

I felt a connection with time gone by,
how simple things were treasured.
Peacock feathers and roses hidden
in the silent guard of pages
now yellowed and torn.

while I spent some time here
the confession of time.
like a weight in my chest
made me realize how we hold on
to the pieces of the past
while we dream for our future

Really living for the day is living.
outcast the calender pitfalls,
let every toll of bell cast a new dream
who cares when we are gone.
cross the boundless ocean of time ,
gone or to come