FOURTEEN TWENTY-TWO AND BEYOND (NATURE WALKING NARRATIVES)

The sun filters down through the trees and marries the moss here and there or else touches rocks. There are trees grand and old that have fallen over into the valley and what strikes one most is their root systems. These once secret under the earth labyrinthine systems now also accepting, against their will for a time I suppose,- the air and sun and other. Crickets or beetles live under them, and perhaps some snakes or frogs and other things. Some of the roots still have dirt that clings like a half forgotten dream and some are bleached, flaxen from the sun and long exposure to the air. Looking up, I thought I should take stock of my surroundings now and again, to know where I was, to mark the land there in my mind. There was nobody around and then someone’s dog and one of mine sniffed or saw one another. The other dog was far and far up on the summit,- and someone called it, Coco, to come back. My dog disappeared in that direction, and then reappeared, so fast and full of prowess i...

c. There is an introduction by Joseph Conrad for one of his short stories where he is bothered by a critic’s question as to whether a character in the story might have been experiencing something supernatural or metaphysical. In the story, like in much of Conrad, ‘place’ seems to be such a haunting character, that perhaps the critic was swayed almost to other worlds, because Conrad did his job so well. But Conrad wanted, he said somewhere else, to make the reader, ‘see.’ It’s all perfect in the end, because Conrad succeeded, perhaps better than any other, and by see, he means far more than see, but see-feel-intuit-practically ‘live’ what is being told. I am no Conrad, but I thought of this tonight because earlier in the day, or rather the afternoon, I visited a forest valley where I did not see the other-worldly (though I have seen the other-worldly before and know personally that it exists), yet the forest then and there was so magical, that it did not need actual metaphysica...

The temperature has dropped and the heat has broken. Thank God. It was too humid. The fall can begin and a sunny day so called can be warm, but remain pleasant without it’s over arching oppressive sun and humidity. The dogs and I walked seamlessly and languidly through the cool forest paths realizing what we knew all along: That our path, literal and figurative, was not far off the mark to begin with, was, in fact, right on the mark,- poetic, beautiful, imbued and strewn with grace, mystery, and even a sort of natural and sometimes metaphysical magic. God, how nice it was to go back to the routine of the forest paths and the open fields, of the little stream and what’s more, the butterfly and butterflies were following us as totems, as angels, as guides, as messages. After, - a snack and coffee on the way back, - and the world was kicking into perfection once more, - for autumn is the best season of all, - the creative month, the month of sleeping and living dreams, of jeans and k...

The water was cool and the sun fell towards it and upon it as little spiders crawled across the top. Underneath a few fish, small, silver-looking or seaming, and they darted here and there. A frog was near the edge and he jumped in and the dirt underneath stirred. There were not many people around and at that time, nobody was around that specific pond. I remembered it there when it was winter, - frozen, the wind coming across the icy top, almost vexatious, and yet there was a thrill and alertness and a certain winter beauty though rugged and fierce. That old pond must have seen everything there is, - all manner of storm and person and animal, but also things like stillness and quietude and calm. I wonder and think then, - if there be fairy folk, devas, et al. - they are there and the forest knows these creatures well. I walked on, but not far, - just around a small loop as it was incredibly hot and without the water source to cool off the dogs, - would not have ventured there or any...

The sun came through the treetops but only in shards and sparkles somehow floated through the air. I saw a snake, long and learn and mature and looking for a hole to climb or slither into. The fall leaves were there, but there will be more. I think that the water when it rains will be like manna from heaven and so interesting to see and feel and touch. I know the grassy summit and the pebble walkway and the big stones and the valley corridor along with the tractor laden field and the side paths full of feral berries and peculiar shrubs of all sorts. The sky, seen in a parting of the treeline, is light blue and without clouds. When will the place cool off? Enough of summer, though it is pretty. I pick up a cool rock in my hand and look at its markings. I also see the leaves around, large, yellowed, crumbling, falling. Maybe autumn shall come practically overnight, the way seasons have sometimes been known to do. The branch hovers in a secret breeze and makes shapes on a log, on a sto...

High enough summits and its quiet there less people and the day is hot but the shaded areas nice. Berries and butterflies are around, and things can be seen such as the brown and deep valley and the blue sky with white clouds dispersing here and there. A plane is heard in the distance and some strange cricket songs afterwards. I could not see a snake, a frog, or a praying mantis, but it was enough to enjoy the sight of the dogs running back and forth under the cover of the trees and their still relatively full branches. We await the real and true autumnal hues and temperatures and atmospheres’. At that time, we will romp through the land, just a bit happier and more relaxed. It is a time to wear jeans or khakis and sweaters and/or plaid work-shirts. Thoughts will sway towards things like pumpkins and fun ghost statues and stories, to the shortening of days and the crisp air of well wrought October nights. -----------------------

If you go along the initial pathway to the third pathway that veers off to the left you can walk along the top of the valley and look down about three stories and get lots of stories as the stony and dirt and pebble and log and tree and bird strewn valley has plenty in the way of mystery and chapters and poems. There is Chaga mushroom that grows there and some people have tried to harvest it but many pieces are too high up in the Birches and Silver Birches. The thing is though, that as one is inclined to keep following this path, there is another way and ways. After about fifteen minutes, if you look closely, you can go left again and find yourself happily and willfully lost in a series of smaller and grassy and intricate paths. And though, a couple times perhaps during the summer months and even spring or autumnal weeks, these are mowed by a small tractor, for the most part they are not travelled upon (why, my American editor once kept asking me over and over again, do you insist o...

The long slow pathways and nobody is there. Ours is the forest and the forest is ours. Something rustles the trees and we stop, look, wait, continue. The berries didn’t bloom this year, not nearly as well as last for there are on and off years. Someone said years ago there was a fire, - a man, a kind enough man, accidentally left a camp fire burning,- and kaboooosh and whoosh, and the place eventually was saved but not before it looked like a burned out movie set. That was before my time. This day, there is not much sign of that time save for some burnt trees. There is an old car, and an uprooted tree, a strange moth that looks like a monster from a dream. And what else? The quietude, the gracefulness of the gait and stride and all the movement of the canines. Some water down the valley way, and butterflies, but no frogs or snakes this day as they are hiding. It is average, prosaic,- to the outsider,- but there is nothing normal about it for it houses magic and is magic and the high...

WIND RIVER FILM REVIEW Wind River is a film I rate as a 10/10, as an A. This film comes from the director of Hell or High Water, another great movie. Since this is a personal blog and not a review for a magazine or outside venue, I shall not list the running time, the producer and Production Company, or even the actor’s names. What I am trying to do here is actually something more than that, and it is to relay the major themes of this movie, a film that does what the best of art should aim to do, which is to address universal issues, and successfully, but without using metaphysics, gaudy and trite special effects, or the thousand and one cheap clichés Hollywood is so fond of feeding the masses. So, what is Wind River about? Wind River is the story of a murder that takes place on an isolated American Indian Reservation in Wyoming. A young lady is seen running from something, and it is night, and she is in the snow. She is later discovered, deceased, by a local tracker. This...

THE BEAR While driving to northern towns the sun was going away and a black bear ran across the road. I had never seen a bear before and was amazed and delighted and felt lucky. The speed at which it lumbered across there was fantastic and the beloved said it was a cub, but I thought it was a small adult or adolescent. Then, the sun went further down, and the constellations began to come out. The small corner stores were closed and it all felt nice enough but a bit lonely as the summer had gone away and the bear had gone away and many souls from the past I thought had gone away and even died. FIRE AND BEACON IN THE NIGHT There was a large fire, and the flames danced out like the flames of medusa’s hair. There were also sparks and pieces of ash that wafted my way slowly, like orbs, like bits of strange small souls from other worlds borne and then travelling. The fire was surrounded by brick and by the thick night black and smoky and still. Sometimes a car would pass...

And as the sun rises the nocturnal animals begin to hide and go and generally retreat to the dens and the deeper forest ways. The night was cooler and brisk, like some islands can be,- with that wind that assuages the self and cools the body and helps all things to be at ease (save for Cuba, where in August anyhow, it does not cool off, and even if and when a breeze comes it is a different breeze,- hot, humid, even oppressive). But it is not Cuba now. And yes, the door opened in the night and the breeze was felt and the coolness and things were well. Autumnal nights. The forests though, in the day, are only a bit cool, - because the sun is still strong, - and soon the still living insects and bees and hornets and ants and spiders are out, - and the fourth or fifth blooms of things are rising trying to open and kiss the sun. It is and will be hot, bright, and clear. But isn’t there also a fogginess, irrational, unproven, that comes with such hotness? It will be there also. But, it wi...

Down the new and strange path I went, going left and then left and then left until I did not recognize where I was. This was intentionally so, as I was looking for a new adventure of sorts. A Blue Jay guided the way at first, like a spirit guide or totem, jumping to and fro, but finally left. The sun was sparkling and benign, confident and strong, and I soon saw an area where once was some kind of farmer or landowners garden or place where animals were kept. All that was left was an old wooden fence, and no abode nearby. I imagined how it must have looked in its quiet but sure heyday.  Maybe there was, speaking of heydays, a parcel of hay off to the side, sitting in the sun, and the grasses inside the fence were lower,- yes,- a rooster nests somewhere nearby in a barn and there the sun sort of squeaks in through a hole in the old and long and dark wall-boards. A man tends to something, - some little bricks or water bucket, and he wears denim and plaid and lo...

There is a large hill that leads as if up to the sun. When it is traversed however, one learns that, as chasing a butterfly, the sun recedes tremendously and remains far and far and far away. Yet, - it does govern that place, and shines down without hesitation or interruption on the things there. Among them, or included but by no means limited to, are the moths, the bees, the hornets working furiously, the wild turkeys the cross, the deer that so coyly come to graze and look around and travel past, and the wildflowers blue that live in both the verdant feral grasses thick and around the flaxen and bleached shrubs of the soon to be fall environs. I went up the hill and took my time, for it boasts a steep incline and the bush is thick there and hard to navigate. But I made it, - and could see the almost the tops of trees (they were older and higher and perhaps wiser and more experienced). A woodpecker’s working day echoed from the distance, and holes could be seen in the perimete...

The business of the area gone away, the hordes of people receded, the afternoon there calm, placid, kind of frozen in time. You can think of the trees, or under the trees rather,- as you go along the pine needle covered ground, past the few berries that bloomed and are now decaying, along the higher ridges where the valley thought it would meet the sky but instead only grew up to know more trees, bushes, shrubs. A deer that way crossed a road and well didn’t go right across but stopped, looking, pensive, ponderous. Why do they do that? The farmers truck out there on the road,- the secular people, old, with nothing else to do but play golf in the adjacent way,- thankfully far away,- and something scurries up a tree and something hides surely in a hole. There is a praying mantis eating something in the grass, and I had never seen a praying mantis before.- kind of spooky, disconcerting,- and there, by the yellow weeds that are ubiquitous and bright flies the oddest and perhaps uglie...

UNDER A CUBAN SUN (SEVEN VIGNETTES) SOVIET STYLE HOUSING UNDER A CUBAN SUN The sun was rising and had made its way over the Soviet style apartments that sat and watched the one lane highway at the north end of the island. These abodes were in design overly stoic, pragmatic, and even sullen, but I smiled to myself when I looked at the joyous pastel and deep hues they were painted. Inspirational orange, beautiful blue sky blue, hot dazzling sexy base-chakra red, happy energetic yellow, lovely and relaxing green,- and several more. Variations on the theme of color. Amidst this, cows with ribs almost jutting out from their skin, broken brick atop other broken concrete forms and bases, electrical wires frayed, exposed, open for better or worse like the sun,- and people waiting under palms everywhere for rides,- happy and proud and fair and interesting people foiled against a strange landscape of decay and beauty. And that was Cuba when I first saw her. Cuba, a place that didn...