The Spell of the Wild (for Jane’s 95 birthday)
Looking west, mind moving into setting sun haze,
Air visible in sand-stone-sun-beamed eve, from
Crest of the ridge, my eyes track the land’s snaking way,
Along channel island coast.
Here, manzanita and tanbark oak
Deep green growth blanketing the ridge,
Vibrates its life to the eye.
Fronting blue sea and sky,
Mesmerizes the mind, entrances,
Silent, serene and still.
Wind wanders past the ear, its
December nature bites and breaks the
Blue green seduction and draws
The eye to the sand stone rocks below.
Like diamonds on rattlesnake’s back,
Lit brightly they glow rose-golden at dusk,
Primal stone sculptures
Carved with Zephyrian artistry,
Twisted, hollowed, and bored.
The ancient imaginal mind wanders…
It sees the ancestors sheltered below,
Warmed by fire in cold black night,
Stick figures and stories circling in smoke filled caves.
The gate to the other world is open…
The gate to the Other is open…
I am alive, again, to the spell of the wild,
And the wild is alive in me,
I am the wild, and the wild is me.
Doyle Hollister 2000