reflections

You gotta like green

…That’s why it exists
The timber industry. That’s what kept it alive,  but now it’s tourism
Gotta like green
If you don’t like green, you gotta deal with it

Very fertile, sunshine, vegetation, muskeg
Mountain rocky country, very rugged domain
Like prehistoric times, the ice age just moved off here
The soil base over the rock hasn’t had time to develop
So tree roots grow flat across the ground
Can’t grow down.  It’s solid rock
Nothing to grab on to and blow over
A lotta blowdowns, a lotta debris

The center of  Red Cedar is dead, rotted
Like the stem of a tulip, hollow
Only the outer bark and  sapwood are alive
Dead, dried and seasoned, this Red Cedar refuse turns into topsoil

Commercial thinning, clear cuts.  Timber is merchantable
Versus virgin timber –  old growth, never been logged
The very big timber is up on the mountains
Big hemlock, timber 200 feet tall
We have Tennessee Red (the most fragrant), Western Red,
Yellow Cedar (most rare) and the Giant Red
Also Sitka Spruce and Western Hemlock,  with bark that’s scaly
The dead standing snags make great firewood

Yeah, just rock or swamps
And beneath the swamp is rock or lake
Peat moss grows up 11 feet, so it’s one hundred to two hundred feet
To the bottom of that ravine, unforseen
The deeper you go, the more soggy it gets. 
Like prehistoric times  before soil built up on the earth
Sink holes, they’ll swallow you up

Lumber mills, big saw mills
Has a Forest Service contract
He cuts lumber really fast
Shipped all over the world

Steelhead streams – The ‘Real’, The ‘Newenberry’
Creekbeds are marble white. Fish show up better
Rainbow and Cutthroat trout
And hundreds of no name lakes full of fish
By the five gallon bucketful

Four deer per person per household, antler deer
For ‘Tricky’ and his boys, that’s twelve deer a season
This year it’s been mostly  twins and triplets
Two bucks or two bucks and a doe
Also ptarmigan, a little native grouse in the summertime
Roaming the western hills
State bird, I think

By skiff, ferry or floatplane
It’s a superb ride to a Native land
You – don’t –  know
You – stupid –  white  – man

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Elsewhere

Temple of the mind, a thousand fantasies lie rotting

This is how it is

As if my madness alone without me

In loving memory

Warned by a raven in the densest growth

Concert of Angels, tell me what you know

Plants in the Rainforest, limited sunlight

Fresh air all closed again, feeding on itself

Colors of the rainbow, streaming light

It’s too dangerous to wait until night

It doesn’t seem to be real somehow, serious and silent

Such a different time flow, black is the violet

Your Journey

Uncaptured bubble 

Heading inward

Little by little 

Like porcelain and gilded metal

Down to the delta level…

“Mellow greetings”

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Eas’ going and smooth

Second sight, déjà vu 

Plasticine…

Your colors seem to run into one another 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sat idly by 

…where was I….

For that instant 

Reframe my mind…

“Last wishes”

Your shadow on the sand

 

 

The halls were lit
And at the same time
Motionless
With a pattern of roses…

Suffering insomnia again
One-hundred percent

Sit down and cool off
Arms crossed…

Working on a false assumption
As I drifted off
Lucky dice, elaborate charm
The irrational hatred of monsters