Vermilion Skies

Emerge from shadow through shadows into wilderness isles and isles where branch is folded over branch, trunk into trunk, grass into grass, and starry night’s ambiance cast by those cosmic audiences sparkling eyes looming down long after the death of vermilion skies that illuminated the hours I wondered along these forest lanes Here now in ether of liquid coal I wonder, am I amid giants; mountains with hearts as big as these boulders I traverse? Am I sightless when subdued sounds brave the cool, black airs that imagination’s inks sketched into omnipresent hues of beast and ghost, devil and demon? Are my hands clasping the toes of ancient tree, masters of the groove through the transitory centuries? Or am I alone? My heart herds fear and fascination and it is incalculable this nature that thunders around me and no matter my willing to grasp and understand I can’t help but yearn for light, the buzz of bees and flies and mornings of vermilion skies for through and through, the wolves that howl, the elk that bugle, the owls that hoot, and the God’s that speak to me in the spirit of tree are too big and wise for one not anchored into the soil for the hours and hours years and years that wisdom needs to flower and bloom I am too hungry to wander beyond where branch is folded over branch, trunk into trunk, grass into grass to sink my fingers into the earth to remain forever among the isles and isles Skies over the Olympic Mountains. Photo by me.