injured vertabrae is my reality, what do i miss? you ask in february, easy to answer, cross-country skiing, white snow, pine trees, vast mountains, i’m nothing & everything, expanse of time & space, gliding on undulating slopes, effort sweat spreads, limbs working hard, heartbeat, blood knows i’m at peace, no cellphone reception, only the next climb, one ski in front of the other, smooth swish, bits of ice crystal on boots, now just memories.
not old body parts: craggy eyebrows, gray hair, beard, failing eyes, not dusty books: shakespeare, socrates, aurelius, arendt, not words: erudite, precocious, sagacity, percipence, not education: cambridge, oxford, harvard, princeton, not military: combat, boot camp, target practice, bombing, not politics: president, judge, senator, prime minister, not bragging: instagram, birkin bag, nantucket house, porsche panamera, but rather: nameless nature, lakes, oceans, trees, mountains, timeless, perhaps one day dead, but still wiser than….
only quiet these woods
bark green leaves, smell
of jasmine is everything
we wished for this
only ocean gray waters
sand sun toes touch
cold salt wet time
here on winter beach
only nature and words
my notebook of memories
we walked up mountain
your eyes forever sky
only everything, this air
we breathe in together
life, all of it
will go on forever
one night i sat
up trying to count
tent time, evenings in
lean-tos, sleeping bags
on dew covered earth
after backpacking, hiking, driving
away from city streets
to forest trees, mountains
summer storms, coastal sunrises
and there were dozens
maybe two hundred of
these star-filled moon
skies with campfire sparked
memories of younger days
when injured vertebrae were
stronger and slumber more
easily arrived, now nearing
50, i feel the chapter’s
end coming, but a story
written in god’s nature
will always dwell within
Daniel W. Polk 