Today's Urban Grind

"Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. 

Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees.
The winds will blow their own freshness into you... 
while cares will drop off like autumn leaves." -John Muir

Today I was up by 7:30. Stayed horizontal for another 30, 

avoiding the cold. 

I looked outside suprised by the blanket of white. 

I made towards the kitchen and then started coffee input. I turned on the computer and checked my email. Plans were still on...I connected with pal and looked out at another snowy day in Portland. 

I put my boots and thermals on while I watched a bit more of the Wild Bunch.

The plan was to hike Forest Park. Trimet would not get me to the St. John's access, so we opted for the Upshur entrance. After a few bus transfers finally we reached downtown. We had a big breakfast for energy and made it to the trail head around 12:30. We stayed primarily on the Wildwood trail and trekked through mud and snow.

We emerged tired, hungry and accomplished. It was a beautiful day. The sun came out and melted the snow. The trees shed their heavy loads and I was born anew.  

PCT solo hike one day

Despite my physical and mental limitations it is still my life goal to hike the Pacific Crest Trail. 

Bottom feeders

Did you know that writing in a classroom setting, with a room full of other writers, who are there to learn and critique you, is like writing poetry for a room full of piranhas. How do you write poetry for piranhas? How do you let them eat the flesh of your poem like their bait. My poem is new, and fragile and eggshell white and able to break and shatter. The piranhas in the pool all feel the same sensitivity. Once the first bit of bait drops and the water stops boiling, there are only a few fierce enough to stay. The rest are just bottom feeders. 

Improve upon what you already possess.

Those who see your true nature will not falter your steps.

The truest of truths. The truest of thoughts. 

Gentleness of life,

peeled sweet layers,

gulf storms can,

memories wash away,

nights fold in,

covers blew off.

Cliff face of rocks, tumble to the plain.

Blanket of grey,

Warmed by the coast,

Hearts of mingled mist.

And truest of truest form,

And truest of truest things.

The truest of true thoughts,

The shelter of the wing.