Looking into the light

Where does the mountain end and the sky begin
When we find ourselves so close to heaven
Melting wings of wax to hold us

I lose myself in another storm
Silken sky falling
Following me
Or perchance ahead
Awaiting my entrance to its icy lair
Tempting teasing taunting
I can not resist and fall in

At times it seems we barely touch down
Floating in this sea of white
Moving with the ease of a dolphin
Parting waves
Parting ways
We fall through
Gasp for air
Grasp for solid ground

I remember red

The mountain sleeps
Naked and white
Do you remember the color red?
Raw and unrefined
Exposed like a deep wound
Bleeding
Pouring forth
The woman that I am
On the side of the mountain
Cut open by the river
Flesh
Healing
Soothing
Carry me away in a wash of white

How easy it is to forget.

Waves of white and shades of grey

Blowing snow at the picnic table outside our cabin

The landscape is painted liberally
Broad white strokes of a snowy brush
White washed over the secrets underneath
Hidden
All will linger undisclosed for the duration of the season
A break in the storm now will not reveal the frozen ground below
Soil and seed and even dried blossom and fallen leaves will remain
Concealed until spring’s inevitable thaw

We are in a storm
Raging power of the skies unleashed
I long for the clouds and cloak that shelter us like soothing hands
Stroking
Enwrapping me in the fury of the skies
Under heavy sheets of rain or snow
Like flowing skirts as the mountain dances upon a stage
Earth is masked by flowing veils

In the comfort of the soft and closing arms of clouds
We wish to be here forever
Wish it will last forever
This fragile beauty
A precarious serenity
A delicate simplicity
Nothing else matters
Not tomorrow
Nor the long cold moons
Nor the fated spring that will turn it all to river and mud

Now it is snow, all snow, always snow for months on end
Heavy and silent
No more playful tapping on the roof and singing and dancing in puddles
But a weighty swathe
Enveloping our world, our lives in white

We are covered.

Looking through the trees

Solitary
By Forrest Getz

Solitary, abrupt against the horizon,
My upright profile unlike the frequents here
Those who carry only the burdens of necessity.

I know I am not alone
Just am right now
Caught in a median perhaps
understanding does not always come easy.

No matter of life and death
The clouds that shadow me
Are of no importance to anyone aside;
And while they shadow this dry land
The relief of moisture eludes.

I continue on, forward
Trees break up my form
Grant company
Home – what defines?
As this is mine
I understand it partly
Yet do not the details
I have yet to find the purpose in most;
I am grateful for what has shaped me.

The finest of horses I have ever known.

The coyotes and crows now feed on you

But you died long ago

Years before when she took you away

Stole your point and your purpose

Replaced your intention and drive

With incompetent care and neglect

There was nothing you could do

There was nothing I could do

But watch you fall apart

At the end of that first year

I saw a blank stare in your eye

Like a lamb on his last living breathe

Your untrimmed feet cracking

And your coat matted and thick with worms

I knew you had already resigned

Five hundred miles a year we would travel together

I tired long before you every time

You taught me to ride a jog for hours

I taught you to ground tie

Would drop your reins and walk away

And laugh upon my return to see you still there

And always you were there

Waiting

Had you not been waiting for years for someone to trust you

Someone to hold on and soar with you as you would take wing up the mountain?

She took you away to hurt me

She had nothing else to take

And pitifully grappled for the last holding in our lives

It was not me she hurt but you

Your life stolen and replaced as an offering before the alter

An idle god beneath the plastic throne on which she sat and stared at you

Watching you fatten and founder before her blind gaze

You were stripped of what mattered most

As I watched your once magnificence

Fail and falter under uncaring eyes

As mine gazed upon you with fantastic memories

From across the fence

Farewell, my friend...

Looking down from a distance at the headwaters of the Rio Grande

Your river calls you, sings softly to you, lures you like the Piper

And into her arms you go and flow

Enwrapped like a sleeping babe

Your toes curl and dig in warm sands

My river is cold

Kept and far away

Though right there before me

She allows me to look but not touch

Her icy depths go unfound

She does not beckon me

But chants to me in the distant hours

In a lonely wail of wild ways

And ancient wisdom where earth and sky merge

Full of answers for which I know not even the questions

And still I ask

And still I stare

And still I remain before her

And appeal for more

Taking flight above the treetops

Soothe me, comfort me

Put me in the woods and tell me to walk

Or have me to be still and listen

There I will hear the screech of the Red Tail

Soaring above the treetops

And my troubles settle into the rocks beneath my feet

We seek a healing as we wander through your woods

And we find it

Hidden amongst the new trees growing up from behind the fallen ones

A constant cycle of new life springing where the old returns to earth

Richer than the soil there before

I turn to you as I would to a mother

I ask for you to heal me as I walk through your woods

You wrap your arms around me and show me the sunlight on fresh branches

You care not about my worries

But remind me how meaningless they are

A blue spruce takes hold behind a dying aspen

A late autumn hillside above Brewster Park

On a naked hillside

Where the aspen stand like sticks

Fine branches free of leaves

Starkly fixed against the autumn sky

Harsh and cold and grey

Stillness covers exposed rock and dirt

Undressed soil like flesh of the mountain

Plain with grasses dried and brown

Flattened from the last snow

And the nest snow

Static air barren of blowing leaves

Silence from the birds

Now abandoned without protection

Am I meant to follow suit

Though I choose to remain here

Against natures heading voice

Against your better judgment

Swirling winds agitate the last of life

Yet unable to awaken or arouse

On this deserted hillside

Unvarnished and simple and obvious

Where do we find comfort in this wind

When the world beside the disturbed branches

Is so subdued in this lingering moment

Grasping at motionless movement

As we remain awaiting winter

With a natural hesitation

And dance among the quiet trees

a twist in the river

I sit by the river

And watch the metallic spark

Of the setting sun

Define each coil and curve

Of the surge of the river

Flowing like molten steel

Burning a path through the open flats

Burning a path though our simple lives

With nothing more to do here and now

Than watch the perpetual course.

Last light of the day

We grasp onto it

With both hands

In desperation

Afraid to lose what we once had

Forgetting that tomorrow

We will have something new

Is it this innovation that frightens us?

This is not the end of the day

But the beginning of feeding time

As the elk emerge from the solace of black timber

Once again trusting the exposed meadows

In the renewed silent static darkening

Shetler of the open places.

On the other side of the river in the naked flats

Afraid to let go of the consolation of light

A formation of geese

Shine silver against the indigo sky

In the last of the luminosity

As they fly so loudly

To their near by sanctuary

Calling it a day

As the light readies to fade to black.

Before the sun lowers itself behind the mountain

To the west from where this water flows

I watch rays of sunshine casting horizontal shadows

Long and lean and sharp

Lying like knives in a drawer

Across the edge of tree line

And then it is gone

The river turns black and cold and still.

The Rio Grande on a late summer evening

Never will I remain as pure at heart

As the waters which flow from these hills

With each drop a new beginning

A promise of life

An unselfish journey

Without pride nor prejudice

With the melting of the snow

The mountain breathes

Frees herself

Shakes free

A great thawing of the land

As the water collects

Mounts

Builds

Comes together to create a mighty force

Lets loose the waters that gush from her hillsides

In the warm afternoon sun of early spring

Only to be rejuvenated again

As the snow surely will fall

At the passing of the seasons

The passing of time

The winter’s storage feeds the veins

Of the thirsty valley below

Continues the surge

Allows the promise to carry on

Lightening the heavy load

Every day a new beginning

Cleansed by the flow of waters

The tainted earth from the surrounding banks

These waters are coursed to rinse

Collecting the silt of our greed

Our selfishness

Our fears and hatred

From those that walk the surrounding lands

Build and take and steal from the land

And claim our motives otherwise

Sediment settles deep in the still pools

Rank and rancid in the icy depths

Hidden in the dregs

The darkness in the bright waters

I learn to accept the blame

Unable to rise above

And perhaps you just pretend

Or close your eyes and see only the surface

Would I not be better to do the same?

Can we float above the muddy depths

In the clear of the river

The purity of the flow

And free ourselves from our past?

What about the past of others?

Can the waters wash us clean?

And still the river flows innocent and unsullied

As I dip myself in the icy waters

And seek the relief and release from my failings

Will I defile the waters

Or will the waters purify me?

Off to Ditch Camp!

We’ll be home at the end of the weekend. May it be a good week for you all, and hopefully, no more snow up there for us…

In the meanwhile, if you have time, please check out the horse blog (click HERE to view) where we posted a new Floyd Story this week (finally… sorry!).

a time and place of inspiration: a boy and his horse at camp in the high country

The Campfire

By Forrest Getz

The steady stream from the dwindling fire,

Weaving its way thru the sparse trees

Out to the pasture,

Slightly above the lowered heads of the grazing horses,

Engulfing the rock I sat upon earlier,

Before quietly fading into the mountain air.

Like ourselves, the stark rise,

The subtle incline,

And last the dispersion, the lingering effect,

Influence remains upon our senses,

The warmth carried from the fire, the burn of haze upon weary eyes,

Finale, the scent that only reminds

Of what was, and what continues to be.

Horses grazing, a morning at ditch camp

Hands in wool mittens

Wrapped tightly as if in prayer

Cradled around the chipped enamel cup

Half full with steaming coffee

Closer to the fire I sit each day

Absorbing the heat of the flames

Through layer upon layer of smoke scented

And soot covered clothes

Noises of the ranch

Follow me so far from home

Generators, vehicles, voices,

Bells and whistles and alarms

But this morning is nearly silent

There is little noise

It is quieter

More still

Colder now

In the hush of early morning

With only the fire and the distant creek

To break the calm

I note the absence of the robins

The song birds have left the high country

Now there are only the ravens

To share the motionless and chilled morning air

An urgency in their call

As they search and scour the hillside

For heat and light

Food and shelter

Even the horses nearly panic

Tight and tense as I lead them two by two

Down to the meadow after a night in the trees

Hungry, ravenous, their need to move, to eat, to warm up

Is overwhelming

As they await the sun

Slowly inching down the mountain

Across the meadow toward them

Standing their like sundials

Broad side to the sun

Awaiting

Finally calm and relaxed and warm

Finally at peace

They rest their heads and breathe

They are here only because of me

Perhaps the ravens too

Cleaning up the scraps of dinner

I ask myself what I am doing here?

How much longer will I too remain?

Changing weather: A storm moving in from the west

A change is coming

A change in light

In color

In life

In seasons

So subtle

Barely there

Visible only in my minds eye?

Perhaps it is just my wishful thinking

I seek the subtle signs

And find reward in browning leaves

Longer nights

And pregnant bellies

Excitement of the new

Refreshment of the old

Anticipation of what lies

Beyond the next corner

Along the next trail

Atop the next peak

As I turn a page in the calendar

A page in my life

A change in life: awaiting the last pregnant mare of the season to give birth

Looking down upon the Weminuche Pass

A day in the life

A moment in time

Fleeting as a running deer

For a few days only we feel the heat

Exposed white legs reluctantly slipping into shorts

Seeking shade and breeze and brightening up at the offer of lemonade

How quickly these few weeks of summer last

Like the roll of a wave in the sand it comes and goes

The rush of wildflowers burst into bloom in the high country

Washing the hillsides with gushes of bright blossoms

Color awash in the branches as the birds too make the most of the short-lived season

All at once in the lush summer leaves the blue birds, robins, grey jays, chickadees, ravens and brilliant yellow and orange of the Western Tanager.

How quickly the cycle of life is played out

With leaves on the trees having filled out but weeks ago

The grass grows tall

Seed heads emerge

Swaying softly in rhythmic swells as a hot afternoon wind passes across the hillside

We look for the change of the light

The lowering the softening the crispness in the air

Inevitable we know this change will come

And enduring the heat so brief

To which we are unaccustomed and uncomfortable

Trying to savor every precious bead of sweat as we sit in the heat of the sun on the deck for a break and rest in what feels like stifling heat

So precious

So fleeting

Rare like a pearl found diving in the sea

We hold it before us in wonder

Amazed by the precious beauty

Before we drop it

Lost in the shifting sands

Knowing it will not last

The short season passes quickly

Life dies across the mountain

Migrating hibernating wilting freezing

As the cold and white and still and silence

That is winter

That is so long in our year

That seems to last forever at times

Spreads across the land

Comes

And stays

Remains with us for months

Chilling away the noise and stress and time and remembrance of this heat and life

Progress and passage

Leaving us with nothing

But the cold still silent mountain

And the heavy blanket of white

And in this heat

This beautiful short and sweet and lively season

Would you believe

There is a secret longing

Deep inside

For the return of winter?

Noticing the smallest changes; a miniscule snail on a rock in the sun.

Heading back to Ditch Camp… back Thursday night… have a good week…

Watching the horses graze on the high mountain pasture through beetle kill trees at sundown

We sit on our silence

As the snap of the fire

And bubbling of dinner in the pot

Become our focus

Taking us away in thought

With tired bodies

Backs arms hands sore

Resting reprise restoring

Content to do little but sit and listen

With the song of the birds and roar of the creek

Seeming farther still in the distance

Late afternoon sunlight dances behind

The tall timber

Much of which is lacy and stark without needles

Dripping with delicate pale moss

Still standing and shading and muting the hillside before us

Light playing its way through the fragile branches

And still majestic weighty solid trunks

The sun now but a few inches above the mountain peak

That will soon envelope the warmth

Comfortably drying our jeans and jackets and selves

Laid out as if at alter

After the hail and heavy rains that drove us away from our work

And into the shelter of the tent

Out of the wet clothing

Soaking us unprepared

Again

Gentle and flowing is the light now

Defused by smoke from the fire

Shadows so long

Through still branches and tall grass

But a light rustling of the delicate hanging moss

The hillside across the valley is already dark

A silhouette before us of pillars of trees

And open runs snaking down the hill where avalanches run

Silver puddles out in the open meadow

Sun light on the ponds

Dancing in our eyes

Twinkling as bright stars in the subtle light of the meadow

The final flight of the red tail hawk

Circling above spiraling in the center

Of the vast open meadow

Of the divide

Of the spine of our world

The dance of the light

The song in the smooth evening air

The rhythm of the land.

The mares out grazing in the morning

Solstice rises as the sun moves slowly down the mountain

So early she presents herself this morning

Soothing the mountain with her gentle touch

The youthful first light of day

The subtle warmth already present

As she brushes away the last of the clouds

Heavy and plump and pink and grey

And draws her fingers down the sides

Of the snow speckled peaks

Tickling teasing softly appeasing

Down into the satiated leafed hillsides

Lush and satisfied with the frequent rains

And promises us the full day

The full life

The completeness of her world