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.

Luminous green,

Fronting blue sea and sky,

Mesmerizes the mind, entrances,

Silent, serene and still.

And then…

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