Cooling wind dropped down Stewart Canyon above Ojai,
Fluttering sunburnt sycamore leaves,
Rustling feathered memories:
Flits from a lifetime of wandering in wilderness,
Bolts of beauty vividly recalled.
Sunshafts spangling redwood trees in the Santa Cruz Mountains,
Sunglow in a slot canyon near the Colorado River,
Scent of sage from drying fog-dew on a trail in the Santa Monica Mountains,
Drone of cicadas in a Pennsylvania forest.
One after another in succession,
Fleeting glories arose and dissolved in a reverie,
Quickened by my attention to what surrounded me
As I sat on one of the pale yellow rounded boulders in the creekbed.
These bursts of memory caressed the tassels of tall golden grass,
Sighed with the flow of descending air,
Stirred with the fallen leaves of the oaks,
Attracting me to the unseen dimension of the seen,
The grand, subtle plot at which those potent moments hinted.