Thank God For My New Tent: Stardate 03.30.2010:

Can you say hallelluia my brothers and sisters, can you say Praise the lord. I bought a Coleman tent for this journey since my old one was too beat up to move and it leaked.


Yesterday after Ellen left and I posted we took a bus through the university, then hiked and found an “open space” where we could set up camp. Unfortunately, the canyons are choked with poison oak and blackberry vines under the trees, so we can't get under cover of the forrest canopy easily unless we go into the redwoods, so we settled for camping on a flat high place just below a ridge where we would be out of the wind. This was important because it had been misting and drizzling since noon, and rain was forcast for last night, today and tomorrow.


We knew we were going to get rain on this trip, it is inevitable in the spring north of Point Conception on the West coast of North America, but we were hoping to have more time to settle into the rhythm of the walk before testing ourselves against it. The projected rain, on top of being tired and sore, is what convinced Ellen that it was time for her to leave the train yesterday afternoon. So, we found ourselves with three tents lined up, Nick, myself, Susanne, in a row. With our backs to the crown of an Oak rising out of a canyon about a mile from the ocean, front doors about six feet back from a small rise that broke the wind sweeping down over the high grassland and gave us a place to set up the propane stove to cook dinner.


We were rather dispirited from the weather, and Ellen leaving, and the struggle to find a suitable camp. Susanne cooked redbeans soaked with dried jalepeno, oregeno, salt and pepper, and seasoned with chillis onions and garlic, plus some meaty and mushrooms left over from the first night—Susanne's good that way, she's only sort of vegitarian, which means she'll eat stuff with meat juice in it, and occasionally even eat some meat. Dark was coming on fast, the drizzle was threatening to turn into rain, and the propane was begining to sputter, so we ended up eating our beans pretty hard, but they were chewable, and they tasted great with tortillas soaked in the broth. Susanne and I ate in my tent, Nick went and hid in his, but again, that does not prevent talking as the walls are thin.


After we ate, Susanne went back to her tent, I read by candlelight for a while and the three of us chatted back and forth, and prayed that the rain would treat us well. Well, it rained, Susanne got pretty wet, Nick's tent held the water out, but hehad trouble with condensation, and mine was perfectly dry...Yay! Hurrah for Coleman. It took us a while to get going this morning, Susanne and I ate tortillas with avacado, bell pepper, jalepeno, pepperjack cheese, lemon juice, and salt. Nick drank coffee. He got the only cup of hot coffee because the propane died for good before we could heat more water...bummer.


We finally got packed up and headed down the hill; where we were pleased to find that our spot was actually close to the Highway and provided easy access to town. I am currently writing in a laundrymat where we came to wash and dry our sleeping bags and some wet or dirty clothes. We are packing up and getting ready to go in search of a coffeehouse where I can upload some more photos, blog and, charge equipment. Off we go into the wild blue yonder, off we go into the sun...peace out y'all.




P.S. Now in Westside Coffee House here in Santa Cruz, gotta get some eats, looks like the rain we were supposed to get today might have blown by...hope so. More later.

Shortcuts: Or walking to Santa Cruz was easier than we expected. Stardate: 03.29.2010:

Early this morning we were called forth to greet the predawn by the happy cries of Susanne saluting the lightening sky. Understand this, Susanne is the only morning person in the bunch. I am not enthused by mornings most of the time, Nick and Ellen are emphatically against them, yet we need to get up sometimes, so it is good that Susanne basically never sleeps past dawn, and often wakes up at two or three in the morning. She is also a reliable alarm clock, she will try to be quiet so as not to wake you if you expressed a desire to sleep in, or if she thinks that you have not been getting enough rest, but if you ask her to, she will consientiously and courteously wake you up when you asked.  

One of the things I call Susanne is sunshine, both for her smile, and her irrepressible good cheer in the morning. Who else do I know that washes dishes with God every morning...carrying the nights dishes into the ocean to wash them with sand in the waves before the sun has even broken through the morning haze. That is what she is doing right now, at Natural Bridges beach in Santa Cruz, while I sit here at a picknic table drinking hot coffee and writing at eight in the morning. 


Rewind:  Haven't had a chance to write on computer in the last 48 hours and we have put some miles behind us so let us play catchup. Saturday morning we were all up and moving by seven, but that just meant that we got on the road at (:30 instead of noon. Can you imagine? Not only Nick and Myself who are accustomed to getting up and moving on pretty much first thing upon waking up, but Susanne and Ellen. Susanne is a morning person, and full of energy, but somewhat scattered and has a bunch of loose ends to tie up, and Ellen is NOT a morning person (but at least all her gear was stowed when she gets up) and they are both women which means that their morning ablutions take longer than us guys. I have to finish packing myself, but am ready in plenty of time, Nick was ready to go when he got hold of a cuppa coffee, but that doesn't cover our ride. Enter our ride to the coast Linda and Lindsey (Susanne's Mom and Neice) who are also both women, and who are not as excited as we are to get moving. Furthermore, Lindsey is a nineteen year old woman who is notorious for taking two hour showers. She did well to be ready in two hours including collaring Bella (her 90lb Alastian/sheppard mix monster of a dorky puppy) who had to come on the first part of the trip.  


Anyway, out the door at 9:30, pilling into the enormous RAM Hemi truck borrowed for the journey, and we're off to see the Wizard. After much laughter and many adventures we made it to Marina by about noon, did some last minute shopping, and hit Marina Dunes State Beach about 1 or so. Linda and Lindsey walked on the beach with Susanne and Ellen while Nick and I watched the packs. These are serious packs, Miune is the heaviest because I insist on having a full size tent and my computer and such, and it runs close to 70lbs. The other three gotta be fifty each, and weight goes up and down with our food and water supplies. 


After hugs and pictures all around, Linda and Lindsey jump back into the Gas Guzzling beast and roar away back to the valley. The four intrepid walkers gather around a picnic table, have some snacks, talk and hold a brief memorial for my mother at around three which is when the memorial for her is going on in Santa Barbara on the bare slab of the house she built and I grew up in. Inspired by Susanne, I sing a few snatches of songs she used to sing to me as a child, Puff the Migic Dragon, lives by the sea and frolics in the autumn mist in a land called Honnalee... And, Where have all the flowers gone? Long time passing, where have all the flowers gone? Long time ago...and I told about how it was to ride in the old Volkswagon van we had when I was real young and the house was barely started and the driveway was unpaved and it turned into a mudslide in the rain and mom would ski the van down the driveway and manage not to kill us even though a bulldozer had rolled down that hill and the operator broke his leg or something...then we decided we better get walking and there would be a better place to plant the little succulent Susanne and Ellen had brought to plant in her honor. 


I posted to Facebook via my phone that we were in Marina and had no ride out, the walk had begun, then we began walking. Not being real familiar with the area, we followed the bikepath north, till it ran out and we had to turn around, so our first mile and a half of walking was pretty much a wrong turn. Then we stopped at the first gas statiopn and bought Monterey and Santa Cruz county maps. Then we turned north up Del Monte and walked two-three miles to the Salinas River National Wildlife refuge Where we set up camp off behind some high scrub in a field of blooming wild mustard flowers. Dinner was lentils, steak and veggis and I filmed the preperation of that. We ate and had coffee and talked, retreating into our tents and sleepoing bags fairly early because of the cold, but continuing to talk as we could hear each other clearly through the nylon walls. My tent is of course the smoking tent (well, so is Nick's but it is too small for company), so I got periodic visitations, and Susanne told a legend about the rhinocerous people, and the first rhinocerous created himself and watched himself creating himself around the first horn. First there was the horn, alone in the void... 


We woke up early yesterday, made coffee, then the computer was dead (because I had used it as a reading light the night before) so I walked down to the beach with Susanne and Ellen to wash dishes and bathe (though I had no intention of getting in that water personally), while Nick gaurded the gear. It was a nice stretching walk and I took pictures of Susanne washing dishes with God and of things I drew in the sand, and a sand angel I made, and Ellen on the beach and such. Then we walked back to camp, packed up and resumed walking. A couple miles along we got to a Produce market specializing in Artichokes and knew we were enterring Castroville. We stopped for beverages, to refill our water bottles, and use the bathroom.  Then we continued walking down through town and north on the one again to moss landing. 


There is a marina and coffee house and a couple of restaurants there, and we were exhausted, so we stopped for coffee, charged the computer and phones and video camera, got online, emailed myself photos, downloaded video into computer, the coffee shop closed at four and I found plugs outside in a closed section of outdoor vegetable market next to coffee house and continued electronic gypsy work while the others lay on the sidewalk and drankl coffee and talked. Susanne read some Bible verses, then wandered off....and came back saying that some people she met had offerred us a ride to Zudkowski State Beach Campground just up the road. 


So we packed things away and waited for them, thanking God that we didn't have to walk anymore for a while. Our saviors were Denyse and Ken and they were kinda old hippie sorts driving an older Chinook motorhome, Denyse chatterred non-stop in a methamphetimine staccato while Ken drove carefully and was very mellow, and we got a ride all the way into Santa Cruz where they dropped us here at the Natural Bridges an hour or so before dark last night. 


We smoked and finished our coffee and then trooped off to find a place to sleep. Eventually, we wandered down a long redwood walkway titled the Monarch Walk trying to get away from the everpresent poison oak, crossed a swamp, climbed a hill and found a nice clearing high above a road where we couldn't be seen by anyone close.


We got our tents set up right around dark while Susanne cooked. We were all bushed, Susanne tried to keep conversation going for a while but gave up after a bit and took her hearing aids out. We were all asleep relatively early under a brilliant nearly-full moon. I woke up to eat meat, cheese, and tortillas at about 2am, and to pee, then woke up just after six by Susanne which is where we began this narrative.


After she woke us up, we all broke camp and headed down to the beach where we commandeered the best picnic table. We all used the facilities, then Susanne took the disshes to the ocean, Nick and Ellen headed out to find a store, and I opened up the computer and started typing. I ended up killing battery and painting some on my pack and some on my jacket. Susanne played on beach and turned her pack into a series of murals. Nick and Ellen came back with sugar and sodas and then we all walked into town seeking a coffee shop. We finally setteled for Borders Cafe which is where I am now. 


Ellen has decided she cannot take it and is going home, so Nick has walked her to the bus station while Susanne and I hang out in the cafe and drink coffee and so forth....Bye Ellen. Next we will get some munchies, and catch a bus up to the university and sneak on into the national park next door to camp tonight. Now I need to post this and uipload some pictures. Video needs to be edited, and there is other stuff to do, so ta, ta for now...

...and peace y'all.

Let the Walk Begin: Stardate Friday.03.26.2010:

It has been an eventful couple of weeks. My Mother wound up in the hospital 15 days ago, two weeks ago I arrived in Sasnta Barbara on an Amtrack Bus, and I alternated my time between the hospital, working on my parents property, friends houses, and long distance walk planning. 


I was going to come home Wendsday because she had moved into a rehabilitation home and appeared to be getting better. Early Wendsday morning she was readmitted to the hospital, this time in intensive care, so I remained in S.B. To await developments. 


Developments were not favorable, and early yesterday morning my Mother died.  I went to hospital to pay my last respects to her body in the morgue. I had to see her to believe in my heart that she was gone, and to part of me she will always be here, just out of sight. Then I went to the train station. 


I got back to Modesto after ten last night, and woke this morning to frantic preparations to leave, writing a eulogy for my Mom, sorting through clothes, Google Earth, buying sandles, prayer meetings and helping Susanne with her taxes. Tomorrow morning we are getting a ride to Monterey, and by the end of the day will be camping on the beach somewhere to the North of our drop off point. 


I think it is surreal but somehow appropriate that the timing worked out the way it did, I was able to say goodbye to my Mother, the last thing I said to her was, “I love you Mom.” Furthermore,this walk was meant to be spiritual from the begininng, and will provide a good enviornment to process my grief and turn my feelings and my memories into some art and some peace. Everything is very strange right now, but that is not unusual in my life. I am sadddened by my Mother's passing, I hope she finds peace, and I hope I can find some as well on the beautiful coast highway. Which brings me back to the title of this Blog entry: Let the Walk Begin, and God bless us all.

My Mom Died early this morning.

In Memorium Deborah Sue (Ivey) Dyer 24 December 1950—25 March 2010May She Rest In Peace. Deborah (Debi to friends, family and colleagues), was the daughter of James and Betty Ivey, wife to Jim Dyer, mother to James and Stephanie Dyer, and grandmother to Jaime Dyer and Cole Prescot. She also mothered her children's friends, and her house was a welcoming one in Santa Barbara's Mission Canyon neighborhood for years. Debi started her family young and became an exemplary homemaker while still in her early twenties. She was a beautiful woman, a good friend, a great cook, a soccer mom, and a regular volunteer at the schools her children attended as well as enjoying the outdoors and fully participating in the design and construction of the house she would call home for more than thirty years.

When her husband was injured and medically retired from the Santa Barbara Fire Department, she went back to work to support the family during his long recovery. Starting as a bookkeeper with the Community Housing Corporation of Santa Barbara she rapidly rose to a prominent management position. CHC found out, as her children already knew, that if you wanted to get a difficult job done Debi was exactly the woman to put in charge of it. Later she spent more than ten years sailing with her husband Jim, first aboard the Neried along the Pacific Coast of California and down into Mexico, and then aboard Mah Jong from Maine to the Carribean. She was a voracious reader who tought her children to love books and learning at a young age and an accomplished amature photographer; she could also steer a boat into a gale, make fabulous crème broulee, and track down the best price on airfare to anywhere on earth with equal facility and grace.  

Debi died peacefully at Cottage Hospital's Critical Care Unit at approximately 2:15am, Thursday, March 25th 2010, after a brief illness. She is survived by her father, husband, two brothers, two children, two grandchildren, and a plethora of other relatives and friends. She will be sorely missed by all of us who loved her, and we wish that she had been given more time here with us before being called away. 

Poetry SLAM

Modesto's "SLAM on Rye" is a competitive poetry event held on the 2nd Tuesday of each month at Modesto'd Prospect Theater. Tonight I read there. I did not make the final round, but that is ok. One of the truisms of SLAM poetry is that it is not about the points, but about the poetry. My friend Susanne did make the second round, check her out at http://radooni.blogspot.com/ anyway, the following is the poem I read for the competition.

Seasons of the Cup and the Well:

The world turns and I wake hungry In the Spring, From a deep well inside me, never empty for long,
I fill the cups of Mother, Maiden, and Lady. And I drink from such cups Metaphorically and actually

But it has been long, too long since I found a chalice worthy of spilling, spilling over and over again
and the well is full to overflowing, so I seek the Goddess where I may in the Spring of the Year.

The well overflows with pure spring water, soaking the ground around it and I cry, cry in the wilderness under her moon—under her moon in the spring of the year—I shout her name in the night.

I wear the horns of the Hunter as I dance by the well under her stars—the stars that are her children—
I dance to the drums and pipes of people long dead, and people yet to come, and I crave...

I crave the blessings of the Mother and the Maid, yes, I hunger even for the caresses of the Dark Lady, the Lady of Ravens, though she fills me with dread. Her echoing, cold silences souls sent too soon to the sumerlands again and I know that my time is coming when I am with her.

Yet the well empties itself over the hills and streams, pours down into the valleys in the ripe Spring
and nourishes the moist and fruitful earth that belongs to her, that is Her, and I sing.

I sing of the hidden valleys and the ripe hills as her cup fills to overflowing in the Spring. I sing of even the jagged mountains that are her temper made stone, for I am the Storm Lord and I can still her rages.

I still her rages with that clean water as it runs down, down the hills into the deep valleys and fills her cup so the world is reborn through love, and worship, and endless rebirths of pleasure in the Spring.

Still the world turns and my water nourishes her seeds, the seeds that sprout and flower in the valleys and on the hills around the cups and wells during the summer as we rejoice in the fire of Brother Sun.

The world continues to turn into Fall and the harvest of her belly, harvest of her bounty feeds the children of hills and valleys with the produce of our love as leaves bleed and fall and darkness gathers.

In the Fall I am bearded with age and mistletoe, stiff with the cold as the world turns, spins through its journey around the wheel of the Year and I become the Given Sacrifice as Winter comes...

yea, I die in the Winter, again and again I die in the Winter of the Year and stay for a time in the Summerlands visiting with old friends until again I am spun out, hungry, again I am reborn in the Spring.

when i was little, i wanted to be a lot of things

This morning I had what started out as a relatively innocuous Yahoo chat with a young woman of my acquaintence. We've been friends for a year or so, and get along very well. Anyhow, she is going through some hard decisions and personal things right now, and so am I, so we chat a lot, and often those discussions veer into interesting philosophical, rhetorical, scientific, or theological territory—sometimes all of the above.
Today we veered off in a direction that is close to the heart of what I am trying to do in my life, and to the decisions that she is facing, and towards the end, I sort of went off on a bit of a spiel. I am interested in what she has to say about the last big paragraph, 'cause she was in class and then had to run, the conversation is relevant to my own spiritual journey, and may help clarify what I am doing here with this blog, and my wandering and walking and art and such. I am seeking myself in adversity I guess, and by finding myself, maybe I can also find God.

The following has been lightly edited to preserve flavor and intent while clarifying a few gross errors and removing a bunch of extra speaker Id's, also protecting identity of person I was conversing with.

James Dyer: Hola D.C.,

D.C.: hola

D.C.: como estas?

James Dyer: Bien, e' tu

D.C.: or if we wanna get internet slangy, km stas?

James Dyer: ha.

D.C.: im ok, just finishing up some home work before class

James Dyer: Well, having HW done is a good start. I'm back at Starbucks, working the net. We start walking April 2nd or 3rd. It's coming up fast.

D.C.: yepp.

James Dyer: That's cool though, I am ready for moving and living up the coast on the beach and the Redwood Trees. Lots to do though, and money is an issue. Also, we gotta figure out transport to Monterrey.

D.C.: thats where the walk starts?

James Dyer: Yeah, Monterrey, up the coast through Santa Cruz and Readwood forrests, to San Fran is the first section.

D.C.: ah, ok.

James Dyer: Not that big of a deal, we can always Amtrack or whatever. Trying to set up a ride though.

D.C.: right.

James Dyer: Save our money for walking, and busses suck, but it really wouldn't with a group excited to start trip...

D.C.: true! if you're with a good group of people all excited a bus ride wouldnt be so bad.

James Dyer: exactamundo.

D.C.: ok i'll be back in a few, gotta get to class.

James Dyer: cool, got your charger today?

D.C.: hell yes i do!

James Dyer: ha, good.

D.C.: shiau, brb.

(15 min gap)

D.C.: you know what sucks? doing the wrong homework.

James Dyer: whoops, seriously?

D.C.: also, not growing since 7th grade

James Dyer: ha, bogus.

D.C.: yup.

James Dyer: extra bogus.

D.C.: hopefully he takes mercy on me. bwtf, if not it's whatever, just one assignment, one check.

James Dyer: yeah, at least you did do homework, no worries.

D.C.: when i was little, i wanted to be a lot of things,

James Dyer: Bet one of them was not accountant.

D.C.: and NONE of them had anything to do with business—not even psychology.

James Dyer: Ha.

D.C.: gemologist, botanist, veterinarian, yes.

James Dyer: superhero? Teacher, soldier, spy. mountain man (or woman I guess) adventurer, pirate. writer.

D.C.: i'm wondering at what point i willingly traded all that in to be practical.

James Dyer: Whenever it was, I think it was a mistake...I made the same one, much longer ago, and now I'm trying to fix it.

James Dyer: http://www.logosjournal.com/ very interesting social and philosophical stuff here. (aside)

D.C.: if i do what i wanna do im gonna get hell for it.

James Dyer: That is always the way of life.

Did it ever occur to you that maybe they give you a hard time because, at least subconsiously, your spirit and enthusiam reminds them of themselves as children, and hence of what they have lost.

Feel sorry for them, it is to late for them to have adventures...which is why your father had affair. If you make yourself more than that, they are stuck confronting their personal failures. It is the same reason that people tell us to get a job, (like I don't work) or are otherwise assholes. They are jealous, they envy our freedom, and can't admit it to themselves.

Thoreau said, "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation." that is what you feel from accounting, it is what your parents feel, it is what all those poor suckers in jobs they hate feel, and it is why the system preserves the power for the powerful, and poverty for the poor. Keep in mind that the powerful can be just as miserable as the poor, maybe moreso.

D.C.: I asked my mom last night if she's happy living the way she does. She says she's content. Ive always been taught that i should be content with this and not necessarily strive for more or strive for happiness because this is not "the real life" because the real life happens after we die.

But i want to be happy NOW and not come home to an asshole of a father and douchebag of a brother and my mom being content but you can tell she's sad.

I want to do something i WANT to do.

James Dyer: Jesus, and John the Baptist, Moses, and Elijah were all wanderers—so was the Buddha. St. Augestine was an artist and a poet.

I want to travel, and experience the world, and do art, and write, and help people learn to live free, happy and spiritual lives, while making enough to live on. That does not take much if you walk and camp out.

Is this wrong?

Sounds like service to me, and service is at the heart of the same faith that has your parents telling you you can't do those things. That sounds like hypocracy. Somebody has snowed all the good little believers and made them conformists.

Remember, Jesus was the biggest rebel the world has ever seen. Remember also, being practical in this world leads to wealth and in Matthew 19 Jesus is reported to have said that it is easier to get a camel through the eye of a needle than to get a rich man into heaven.

Read the Bible (all the other major religious texts for that matter) and see what it says. Then compare the words in the book with what you have been taught. You will find that the teachings are not the same.
"The Church" exists wherever two or more believers gather to celebrate life in the Spirit, to love God and one another—while a church is a human social institution. Some good, some corrupt, and all vechiles for human weakness as well as for strength, hate as well as love, separation as much as unity, etc.

Christ and the Buddha said much the same thing, and both of them willingly gave up all the trappings of wealth to follow the voice inside that called them to do what was right for them and for others.

Shit...I'm starting to sound like a frigging preacher. But I believe that what many churches teach is contrary to the meaning of the spiritual and earthly paths laid out for us by the prophets. Most people mean well, and think that they are doing what is right for them, for their loved ones, and for their souls. But then, "the road to hell is paved with good intentions."

D.C.: hah! next thing you know you're gonna be a preacher, sorry i havent responded. This guy is throwing out a shitoload of information. Ill be back in an hour or so. i got P.E. next and i gotta go buy a lock.

James Dyer: No worries, have fun with that.

A New Backyard—a New Spring

Last year, I wrote of sitting in
my backyard one morning in the Spring;
It is only fitting that I
do so again my friends,
in the Year of our Lord 2010.

Now that yard is gone to me
as I have gone from it
I sit by the river
in the morning given to me
Outside the tent given to me
In this chair I found as I
I look around.

Yet I find myself calm and
more content than I was
in those days of family
and paying rent on that backyard
in which to sit and think
sit and drink my coffee
with vodka on the side.

I am no longer hiding behind fences
the world is my backyard now
and while this life is hard
in ways the old one was not
I am shot of all the worries
that came with the false sense of
Security provided by families and fences.

I made my coffee on a campfire this morning
got smoke in my eyes but
somehow the coffee tastes better
and I find I don't need vodka
on the side anymore
to get through the day.

Instead of
looking at a red Japanese Maple
as I listen to the birds trilling
whistling, sinnging the day
into being, I look at thickets of
new blooming trees, dock, and nettle.

I can hear the fish jumping behind
a screen of trees and I wonder if
the rain will follow this
mellow breeze that has begun
to flow through my refuge
here by the river.

I can hear the traffic on the bridge
upstream and it seems true
that life is but a dream sometimes
and sometimes we wake
to realize what we thought real
has really been faked.

That maybe it is not I
who have flaked out and faded
faded away—that maybe I
was fading but now my light
is burning through the bushel
again my friends

I am left with this sense
that all is right in the world
and all manner of things are well
while the life I left behind at times
seems little different than hell
for all the beauty of being
alive in the spring.

Still, In the morning
in the spring of the year
the river burbles along, the fish jump
the birds trill, and whistle and sing
the day into being while I
I look up at blossoming trees
smoke a cigarette and drink
a cup of coffee
In the morning, in  the Spring.

In my backyard, in the morning, in the Spring (last year)

In my backyard I sit
in a swivel chair and hear
the birds of spring
chirping and trilling
in the morning and look
at the crimson maple from Japan
that we planted last year.

I think of other places 
other years 

Years gone past or yet to come
in which I have heard or will hear
the birds in spring for no reason
in particular, 


They always remind me
that life is fleeting


Flying by me with no great success
and my heart is dying of
love and cigarettes, and my children
growing up and up and soon
will go away, but the sun is shining

Shining into my yard on this spring day
and the grass is greening and
the flowers blooming
in beds and on the trees

In the mornings
my soul yearns to be free

Free of all the burdens that age
has brought to me but I
I have few regrets
though my life is pointless and
I'm burdened by more debts to
gods and men than I can shake a stick at,

So I just tilt my hat back and
look at that red maple

I listen to the birds while
the morning sun beats down and
takes away the chill of the night before
and I light another cigarette
and write about the things I see
near and far from me

While I sit in my backyard
in the morning in the spring.