Words often come to me when I hike. So do creative ideas and photos and …
The words often come in lyrical verse. Sometimes as fragments, notes to work out later. Sometimes as formed poems I jot down and then try to leave alone, letting the flow of that moment stand as the specialness I felt when it came.
Here is another short poem for the #showyourwork file, from the trail.
A tree stump stripped yellow and weathered gray
stands in the textured wild, a loose tooth uneasy
in its roots among its sisters and ancestors already
fallen, a notch cut at the peak of what’s left, a seat
for the conscious left clear.