~The poet uses the butterfly net of language to catch fleeting images in mid-flight~

Monday, May 23, 2011

Heading There

Hiking up the rugged Santa Lucias,
I have arrived at a shady stream.
Not yet the nearby mountain top;
Although, I’m heading there.
After the grueling uphill,
The blazing sun,
And the gossiping gnats in my ear,
I have stopped to rest
In the coolness of the canyon.
Sinking into the solitude,
I am caught in the soothing energy
Of the stream’s murmur and splatter.
Every swirl, ripple and roil,
Every cascade, fall and boil
Show me the water’s
Irrepressible signature.
All of it…
A melding of moods
All of it…
A drama of surrendering
All of it…
Beyond seriousness

In every moment
The creek replaces itself
And then, again and again
Continuing forever
On a mapless journey
Toward an inescapable destiny.
The whirlpools keep spinning,
While muffled voices keep calling.
The water keeps leaping and falling
Over, around and down
The fronts and sides of endless slippery rocks.
This creek has finally shown me
That I have no goals in life,
Save for the easy movement
That takes me to a quiet place.

When you finally get there,
Look for me at the mountaintop.
I am the butterfly
Carried upward
On the breath of the canyon breeze.