Word power through soul, like water through stone, carve beauty to earth.

A land in constant shift. A born remembrance.

A splintered sun. The ray of ages.

The mist of a generation. The constant clash of war.

In an hourglass of enemies, when unison finds dissonance like shots in the dark where the wildlife find it's meal.

To the fine and hungry few.

The eager among us. The fortunate few.

Found limits. Forgotten sorrows.

Slighted truths and filtered realities.

Condensed.

Abridged.

Drafted.

Called.

Stoned.

Tired.

But reborn.

Live outside.

Outside of convention. Outside of norms. Outside the status quo and arbitrary lines.

Outside their well-defined petri dish border walls. Outside of yourself and outside their expectations.

Outside in the wild and unencumbered naturesphere.

Live outside in the woods and oceans and jungles and snowfields.

Outside beyond the learned monoliths of societies adrift.

Out beyond the breakers where water weights level off.

Outside of the ticky-tack boxes on hillsides.

Outside where that sun comes from you embrace when it lights your inside spaces.

If all my days end up like this

And all my nights are clear

How could I end up like this

If all I need is here?

After the dust has settled, in the early hours of the brisk evening, by the skipping rock banks of the western most creek, the visceral sound of the call to gratitude can be heard feathering it's way steadily down from the mountain's top.

One might think the mist between would dampen the call's vibration but like a persistent child it rings it's reminder.

Somewhere beyond the fourth wall there exists a sidestep often overlooked in the search for integrity. A wild and natural born consciousness whose only touch of color comes through in altered states. As if to be reserved for moments unscripted like an unknown breath or windswept love affair. This kind of bewildered structure fills a space that acts more like a living lifeform than an empty to be filled

When morning breaks.

Before the yodeling fills the hills.

After the bars have closed and dreams completed.

Before the coffee and before the sausage hits the buttered pan.

After the prolonged goodbyes and the windy road. And after the nighttime laughter.

Before the morning songs of birds. And before the sunbeam breaks the peak of the bluff.

After the long day. And before the ship sinks.

Before the black sage on the dash hits my nose.

Before the first cars of sunrise.

After the mountain cracks let loose. And before the clouds cover the horizon.

Before the cigarette smokes. And after the ocean sleeps.

How many stars do you see?

Do you know what it looks like to watch the headlights of a passing car hug the winding mountain roads in the dark of night?

I have seen the coming and the going of the sightseers.

The passing of the light bearers.

The quandry of the needy. Hoping for one quick glimpse of the vast and nameless.

Like children in a maze. Hunters to the kill. Predators on a slow, thought-out stalk of wonder and amazement.

I have felt the pull of beauty so strong the oceans fill brimful with jealousy. They wake their ancient shores. A relationship so beyond that we know no language with which to describe their want. How simple we must seem - with no back and forth regular enough to satisfy their mission.

I am a hungry fish.

A jealous lover.

A star crossed Romeo.

An ill-fated star.

A disaster.

A natural rock.

A tired and unamused player with little at stake in a game beyond my capacity.

A laughing monarch.

A child.

A born loser in the robe of the victor.

I too have felt the lonesome call of an ocean of want. To touch the land one more time and wish for more. To steep in her wake. Awake in her steady silence.

Envelop me - I am Earth.