NO RAINS, SOLITARY WALKER, POSSIBLE CHEM-TRAILS, AND THE REGULAR SUSPECTS OF FLORA AND FAUNA LIKE THE WHITE TRILLIUM AND THE YAPPING BIRDS

For the most part quiet ensues in the summits and valley and along the winding path. Sometimes I think I hear something but it is not a coyote or even a squirrel but just some wind coming down from the sky and across the trees. Everything is subdued. The rains did not come. The rains like a beloved or old friend that had made a promissory note but did not follow through. Oh well. Some other time. I had waited for them, - thought I felt their presence or at least pretence in the breezes and somewhat electrical air. They went somewhere else. One day they will come in the night. Such a funny saying, ‘One day they will arrive in the night/’ those rains, - they went off towards the north or south. 

One thing did happen that was odd later was that I saw a plane, - well someone pointed it out to me, - and it flew through the sky with a dark cloud coming out from it- for miles and miles. I thought, now, - let’s see, - maybe it is an old plane and makes dark trails. But, - three funny things happened. The trails did not evaporate for a long time- perhaps fifteen minutes. Secondly, - the trails stopped. Then started- and it was definite. What kind of a plane that flies as high as a jet can turn off its engines and still fly? None. So- that means it was not an engine trail. Thirdly- the black did turn off eventually and the white started- that regular white that just evaporates within a reasonable minute or so. Odd- if there is something to the chemtrails- that was a chemtrail. In fact, - I noticed the sky was full of them. Anyhow- I try to as rule stay away from those topics. Those are dark ideas and happenings if they are happening. Bad vibrations, malevolent even. 

I concentrate on the chipmunk and bird, the wildflower and river, the sun and moon and swaying branches. Well, it was quiet. There was a guy that came out from almost nowhere. I had seen him once before. He looked unthreatening, but there is little I actually fear. He was as far in the forest as me, - which is a half hour in, and he had no friend, no dog, no walking stick. He was a bit startled by the dogs, but crouched down as to not threaten them. He knew for the most part what he was doing, rather than hover over them and act too afraid, angry, or dominant or passive. He was an equal. I still held Tessa back. He looked like the type of guy that had been in a war, though he was not wearing fatigues; - maybe a bit of PTSD or something like it was worn in his aura as I involuntarily but automatically read it. He tried to say, ‘Have a good one,’ but I could tell he did not talk much, and it came out as ‘Have good one,’ without the ‘a’. White, about 25-30, medium height and build. Ah, maybe just a guy going for a walk. Not a bad person I would think, - but I am not a super psychic. Usually an exercise enthusiast or real walking aficionado would go in there. He was on the cautionary scale just average- just a person. I have seen worse, - like the guy who I think might have been stringing up coyote legs and bones on the other side. That guy was weird.

 Come to think of it- though they are not the same person (I don’t think),- someone has been playing ‘Blair Witch’ a bit and arranging pieces of wood in odd shapes,- mostly triangles and pyramid shapes. A kid or kids should not and are not there, that I know of. So why would an adult do such a thing. Again, - it could be just someone playing around- but I have seen three of these designs- and though they don’t feel sinister per se- they feel a bit odd. A couple sticks for fun, sure- like people who arrange inishnooks or the reef that was brilliantly woven and left in a tree. You see such things eventually. But this was on the weird scale about a 2 or 3 out of five, which is a bit too high. Who knows? I thought I heard something on the way back far off, but couldn’t see anything. 

So, it was quiet, though I delve into things. A solitary guy, sure- that is no crime, - whoever he was. And- later, - more south of there, - possible chemtrails. But for the most part, - breezes (no rain unfortunately), wildflowers, greenery, shrubs, chaparral, a tree line, old logs, mushrooms, Trilliums, dandelions yellow and white, a cricket making its way across a path, some trees cut and organized by the old farmer and/or his helpers, the sky, the clouds, and the regular set of natural and now ‘summerful’ artifacts and atmospheres. 

And nearabouts the end two loud and spirited birds, hidden away up in those tall trees, yaking to one another about something. Possibly the latest gossip or complaining about yours truly coming by again and perhaps too close to a nest or something……….. 

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MARGA (THE PATH OR WHAT DREAMS MIGHT THE NIGHT STORMS BRING?)

The old path at the end of the forest that leads out the circular way. The main part is parched from the sun and from passengers’ feet. Even though the temperature had dropped somewhat, the bright morning star made its way and rose the degrees up and up once more. Sometimes a cool breeze might come and sounds like the ocean. But the ocean is far away. The Atlantic must still be there, with its dangerous blue jellyfish, with the piers racing out to the horizon, failing, but failing beautifully. 
 

No animals are around and no signs of anything like that save for the large heron that suddenly flies overhead. Where it shall alight, nobody around there knows. Quiet. Silent then. And soon the wildflowers can be seen. A wasp, busy as a bee, - hee hee-, is at work, foraging for what it needs, - one petal to the next, and then he is gone into the thick green tree beyond. Clouds

still in the sky, as if in a painting. When will the rains come? At times, the sky in places does seem dense and that it promises things like precipitation. What dreams shall we have in the night storms?

Until then, we wait…

An old bike sits sometimes by Hibiscus and sometimes by the Mulberry. The world spins.

The wheels sit still but sometimes spin. The wheel of fortune itself spins, the dharma wheel, the cosmic ball bearings. But nothing really spins too much- it happens in silence. We are all on the path. Marga is the path. Or, more properly, we could say- The Path. The forest, the wasp, the big bird silhouetted against the deep blue sky and cumulus clouds. The bike, its paint and chrome, oil and wheels. The bubbling water fountain. People. Crickets. The lapping waves of the Atlantic, - now unseen save for in the imagination. And the berries from the trees, the trees, the red flowers with yellow. So many, many things.

What dreams might the night storms bring? 

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BLUE HERON NESTING SANCTUARY (THAT IS WHAT THE BEST OF THINGS ARE MADE FROM)

It was as if in a dream or a movie. Pure magic. Turning the corner in the late afternoon to a street that sits adjacent a farming community. After that street there are only fields of green and brown for as long as the eye can see. My own camera is not powerful enough to capture the nests, a little far off, that sit right near the tops of trees. I can see some silhouettes only. But each nest has a bird watching the, I suppose, eggs. The thing is, there is nothing else around there- no forest, no city, no real town to speak of either. There was a quiet that, against logic, vibrated in the air. The sound of nothing perhaps. The sky was a strange blue-white, as if the clouds had mixed themselves in with the actual sky and melted but not disappeared. One man on the end, a little guy with an actual camouflaged lens, maybe two or three feet long. It must have cost a thousand dollars or much more. The green boggy-marsh-swamp surrounds the bottom and nothing moves. It’s the birds, large, tending, watching, waiting, being. Sometimes, just sometimes, one flies off and goes across the street and disappears into the sky. It was something. It was all something. But the first moment turning the corner and looking up to the high left, - the shapes of the nests, black against the sky, - and a large bird in each. That is what the best of things are made from. 

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THE STORMS

The storms will come and wash away the dirt, grime, and mud from little asphalt places. First they will begin with a few drops that cross along the windows of the eateries or other small afternoon sanctuaries. Patrons don’t take too much notice. The single drop, then the multiple, well they have their own beauty and cadence,- like the wind, like the rising arcing sun or the noonday bits of petals that float across the flaxen fields like bubbles, like a dream, like a bubble-dream or dream bubble…

But then ferocious and beautiful winds descend and with them the real rains. It’s like that,- and there are moments when the tree branches bob up and down too fast,- not really made for that- and look at them speak. Are the trees in the far and far places really asking for help then, yelling out to an unknown saviour? All the cars and persons and dogs, bikes, other- file out and along the one lane highway. The rain upsets some frogs, some snakes, and they can be seen hopping or slithering across the small pathways.

It goes like that, and the dark settles in quickly as it was not only the time for the storm but had been late dusk. Then the sky, a dark immense room, gets turned on by lightning. Flash. It’s odd to see the trunks and far off fields, the wires from wooden fence posts, the colorful wildflowers and more- lit up like that for a moment. It’s like a dream, a movie scene, atmospheric and cinematographic at once, but more- though there is a second of what seems against odd, like quietude in the light- it’s nevertheless musical then. 

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THE WILD FLOWERS WHITE

The air was humid and the sun blasted itself down upon the forest. Though a quick rain had come to the area it had not cooled anything more than a few degrees. There were not many people there because such a heat and rain had kept them at bay. It was a time to be cautious, to go slowly and stay for the most part to areas shaded yet known. Still the little white flowers, faithful to their destinies, held a blossom. The epitome of intricate and detailed, and reminded one of something from a painting or fairy tale. The snakes did not show themselves, and the frogs if they were there were not to be seen. Coyotes must have been in their dens, waiting it out like the suburban sets in air conditioned rooms or else the rural souls in pastoral fields. It was a liminal time on the paths in that much had happened previously and surely would in the future, but not then. Transitions. That sun. It overtook the shapes of clouds. How strong it was to be able to have the storm interrupt it and come back again quickly like the next wave in a sea at high tide. For all one knew, there were no constellations and the moon was a myth. Spring, autumn, winter, - all fanciful dreams had and gone, seen but then and as if forever, unseen. Summer. Summer and nothing in sight but. Mosquitoes announced themselves, that was certain, and two small butterflies flitted anxiously about. About what? About some of those kind and intricate wildflowers white and somehow untouched, inviolate, and naturally valorous. 

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RAIN AND THE WINDING VALLEY

It could be seen that rain was going to arrive. It was a matter of when. The clouds that were white seemed to stay above while some moody and darker ones, saturated, pregnant, came and slipped underneath those. There they waited, like something patient that knows its time will come. I was a bit disoriented in that I took a different path and thought I met with a ridge way that led to another part of the valley. But I followed it on. I still don’t know exactly where I was or how I got there. Right at that spot, and for about five hundred feet in all directions, there are different paths and by-ways. The avenues of the forests, and some are crescents while others cul’du sacs. It’s not dissimilar from a regular city map in an odd way. Everyone knows where the main highway is, but the farther you veer off into the side roads and back roads, the less in known. But I stayed the course and made my way up to the top, and then down to where I recognized things. If I get lost, which is seldom, I actually go slower, breathe slower, take even more pictures, and pace myself in order to remain calm, avoid any mishaps, and so on. That is what I did. But as I think back, I still wonder? - Where the hell was I? - Picture this, - the walker is on the left side of a valley. Then he goes away from the valley, further to the left and proceeds in the same direction, parallel, with the valley technically on his right, but far away. Then, in a few seconds, the valley appears. The valley must meander to the left, and the chaparral, new summer growth which is coming fast, combination of sun and light rain that was coming- all the shapes and changing shapes of everything, must have made for a slight disorientation. The valley must zig zag exactly there. That is the only explanation and there are not two valleys that I know of anyhow. It was like the valley followed me! In any event, out of there, though the rains had begun, something told me to walk another five minutes further because then the dogs would have a chance, if the desire was there, to run through the sand pit and beyond. It was the best decision because this is what they did. Apparently the larger one had not stretched his legs properly or had a good sprint. This is what he did- zooooooom- like anything, - across the sands, up the dirt, back around the trees, down and up a green summit, then across the open field and back in a large arc. As we went back into the bushes and the pathways we stayed on our regular way and were not completely sheltered from the rain for the forest roof. Yet, it did provide some help. We could hear the pitter patter on the leaves and inside us we knew and felt on energy levels that it was something different happening, - a rainfall, and dark. Soon a snake came slithering across the front of me. He was perhaps a bit startled out of somewhere by the rain. I thought of the kundalini force again on the one hand, and also of how a snake just needs to make its way across the forest floor on the other. We looked at one another and I took a picture. There was no thunder or lightning, and we got back in time to the main stretch of parking. Nobody was there. Another excursion completed, we hopped in and drove away.

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