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Posted By Opening the Heart

I'm back from Big Sur, and days so chock full of adventure
that I still sport bruises up the bony spine of calf, still
gleam with fresh dreaming.  I chronicle a life unfolding in the
tension between effort and surrender.  Tree bodies standing
as tall as any living thing dares, in wind, in gray rain pounding
on a slant, like light, like shadow.  Fire blazed through this
forest, left You, Grandmother Redwood, charred and dignified,
burning this hollow in your womb, which my lover and I instantly
recognize as "cathedral." 

We weave energies with you, press
sweaty palm prints against the patterned charcoal of bark.
Intimacy necessitates the exchange of DNA, and swop we
do, generously.  We honor you with vibrant spring ferns
climbing your dark, smokey body, offerings of pine cone and

We hike ourselves silly, through temperatures and textures,
wear holes in our new sneakers, sprout blisters, lug the comforting
rattle of Advil, the retro familiar of faded, favorite bandanas.  The
Pacific follows us, all froth and intensity, her blue a constant reminder
that we cannot fall from grace, just sky in the water to cushion a
landing.  This round earthly orb spins ever so gently, easing us to our
edges, and to her own.

33 miles in three days.  I grow lean, brown and happy, harkening
back to a dozen summers spent going absolutely nowhere in
particular, but living from dawn to dusk, motored by the muscle of
childhood, bathed by the sea.

Tell me something.

Is it not child's play we are after?
A little dirt rubbed off on the fluffy, white, hotel towel,
eating peanut butter sandwiches on stolen raisin bread,
4 days in a row.
Licking the stamp on a postcard,
using too little sunscreen and just enough common sense.
Tipping well, until all that remains is the change,
rattling around in our pockets,
and the way our legs twitch in anticipation
at the edge of sleep.



Donna Pic