Parsley and Pine

North and Rambling.
Finding fragment of mollusks left over from the days of the deluge.
Snail shells scattered like seashells,
crisp and white in the dirt.
Spring has awakened the earth,
and she bats her eyelashes
Fresh in the form of
Parsley and Pine,
Cliff Rose and Clover.
There is such a stillness and spirit to voice such a song.
It slips through the trees
as ephemeral light and rain,
covering the leaves.
An animistic spirit,
And a spark of freedom,
fragmented and fallen
Crashing like entropic waves over my face.

Southward in a desert autumn,
Passing through the Ponderosa and Pinion.
I am held between the fingers of this blooming mesa.
Sipping on an herbal brew of
Ephedra, Juniper berries, and Sage.
Bitter Tea, Astringent and Stimulating
The colorful tastes of the painted desert.
A Cattle carcass erects a cage.
Picked clean by Vultures, Ravens, and Magpies.
Housing Prickly Pear, Yucca, and Barrel cactus
in a morbid desert garden bed.
Waking up to the light of the half moon
Clouded by an overcast sky.
The clouds casts a paranormal purple glow
as Ursula breaks through the vale like a bride,
Awakening from hibernation,
she stirs from her winter slumber,
standing tall in the sky.
She is casting shadows
upon the maroon
cliffs of the canyonlands.

East towards Scorpio
Chasing the rising sun as it slips over two breasted peaks.
A moment in space and time, in the post-dusk haze of starlight
and city light that bounces off the clouds.
The Remaining shadows are slipping out of sight
as the moon meanders over the side
and drowns the meadows in silver ribboned rays of light.
Artemisian Sagebrush Dancing,
like upon Moses’ Mountain of Horeb
Setting flame to the foothills
And Blessing the mountainside with sacred smoke.

West and casting a shadow,
peering deep into the well
If I am to serve a life sentence for my sin of simple mortality,
then let it be here amongst the sweetest of wooden wardens
Pondering my penance at the presence of the river.
Is there no place that is still considered holy
that is not made by man?
The earth itself built
mountains as cathedrals.
Formed with more spirit than mankind could ever conceive.
We place ourselves as stewards of this land
Yet, we are but guests here.
As for me, I will treat the earth as my religion,
The trees as my prophets,
and the leaves rustling in the wind
as the pages of spoken scripture.

I will die as I have lived, though unbenounced.
Meandering through life as if swimming through a dream.
I spend as much time, upright, Awake!
dwelling upon this tempermental earth
as I do, dreaming of being underneath.