"I am losing precious days. I am degenerating into a machine for making money. I am learning nothing in this trivial world of men. I must break away and get out into the mountains to learn the news." John Muir
I spent 3+ years, basically the whole pandemic chaos, on a mountain in Nicaragua. I’d walk up and down daily with my dogs, read and read and think this world into being.
I started this journal, blog, newsletter, report during that time. One of the fruits off that tree is this tiny book of poems - 50 Poems From The Mountain. Some readers might find sustenance in it. Read the book’s forward, it explains much about it’s genesis and where I am, even still, at this moment.
I’m more and more convinced that we need to find “some way out of here”, as the Joker asks. This was one of my own replies, a beginning of a journey I’m still on. The whole wide world as my home.
6 - Routine
The garden
is finally giving.
We bring in some beets and
wash, cut, cook, eat.
The vultures
soaring on
the mountain's breath
look at us
with disgust.
Tomorrow
we'll do this all
again.
10 - Not Caring
We rest on the hill
with cows gazing below.
The place where the path
veers toward the river.
As the sun rises
I am overcome with indifference.
The mountain behind me laughs.
I can hear the river in the distance
laughing too,
calling me to try and cross her
without getting my boots wet.
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