….cold, smokey autumn nights in the high mountains, among the shooting stars and satellites, clarity of heart, breath & mind, a coyote cry from the arroyo and the gears of a semi winding up to take the long rise out of our valley and on through to the ancient northern wilds of Turtle Island….
Walks in the dark like these bring to consciousness my eighth century brother, the eternal Li Bai.
Li Bai knew beauty, the classics, travel and the wild life. Too he knew war, corruption, injustice and exile.
Li Bai would recognize this day and age in a flash, as he would these cold and smokey, high mountain November nights that abide me so.
Li Bai knew beauty, the classics, travel and the wild life.
Li Bai was that most rare and true wonder of soul making: a poet.
Thoughts In Night Quiet
Seeing moonlight here at my bed
Li Bai
and thinking it’s frost on the ground
I look up, gaze at the mountain moon
then back, dreaming of my old home.
❏