Last saturday morning

So here is a bit of the writing I did before work the other day.


One hundred words in green ink
before I go to work
before they are trodden into the gray chaos
            of demands and obligations

Rain rolls off the roof
drops disintegrate against the window
yet promise green
suggest a summer less scorched
whisper moss in hidden pockets

            The trail up the mountain is now slippery
            as sand-wrapped bubbles of clay
            ooze and catch at my boots

my path ends abruptly against
great roots raking the sky
and I am looking at two hundred feet of redwood
from underneath

            For years now
            I have written in circles
            to explain that holy terror

And I understand
how hard it is to corral wonder in words
how easy it is to mistake the words for the moment 
how hard it is to see through the words 
to the light they struggle to reveal

the roots are still there