The hills rise above the fog that fills the valley
The unseen city is still heard
The trees and rocks, the spent grass, the green shoots
Ignore the city’s muffled roar
Low sunlight reflects from myriad dew-laden webs
Blanketing felled leaves
___
East wind blows swiftly, sure as the eagle flies
Pulling the sun aloft
Gusts roll endlessly, bending the brush, flushing a bobcat
I crouch behind a rock
Wind and trees combine in counterpoint, balancing
A robust embrace
The hill gives purchase to those beings
Unwilling to fly
___
The tall grass pretends to yield to me
Then encloses me
Foxtails nod their welcome, tossing back hot sunlight
But insects rule this day
__
Mountain ridges build silently toward the sky
Hiding dark canyons
Buzzards soar endlessly, from ridge to ridge and back
Searching silently
___
The wise say there are many paths to the one place sought
So as with this hill
This deer path is now my path – up, up through thick brush
Deep full breaths
A startled family gives wide berth to the sweating beast
Who now claims this hilltop
___
The scrub jay awaits on a fence, and as I approach the path’s end
She jumps to a higher perch
The late fall sun, obscured by haze, casts diffuse shadows
Its radiance blunted
The quiet hillside rests—trees, brush, grasses
Only insects move
___
The once familiar path is now rent by the storm’s torren
Showing naked earth
See how the streams flowed, running over man’s patterns
Carving creeks and gullies
But the rock and the oak remain despite the deluge
It is a comfort
___
In time, all will flow downhill with waters seeking their source
But, for now, I have the oak and the rock as unchanging friends
___
Written 1995-2002, Santa Teresa County Park, San Jose, California
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