Fertile land,

green trees,

and peaceful days.

Clear mornings,


through urban haze.

An affliction,

to seek any kind of calm

amongst the catastrophes.

A delusion,

to want anything more

than just existence.

When did the mind awake

to hear traffic noise,

and see stringent schedules

fall apart,

no longer building a nation?


once lauded as the arbiter

of our progress,

merely returned our hands

to the dirt,

and our thoughts

on God.

The missile men

still seek the stars.

The warmongers

still call for war.

Could it be

that we are free

of their shared delusions?

Could it be

that clean air,

clean water,

and clean conscience

are attainable once again

through noble sacrifice?

What is

is what has always been.

The desire of the heart,

so endlessly corruptible,

but restoration

is but a few miles away

outside of city limits.

Precious few

are our days,

and fewer still

are those we share them with.

The green hills here

open to golden fields

that reach from the horizon in the East,

to the mountains in the west.

Soon, the sky will lose its luster

in favor of the steel-grey

of autumn.

Then, winter,

and the struggle begins anew.


Nature draws us into her bosom.

The skyscraper spiders

that spin concrete webs all summer,

will sleep for a season.


that we so readily dismissed in June

become the currency

of January.

As the snow piles up,

and the wind cuts like a blade,

warm light seeps from frosted windows,

and wood smoke hangs in the valley,

not like the wildfires of summer,

but warm,

welcoming as friendship.

Every breath feels alive here.

Life feels free.

Smiles come easy

as the sweat of the brow.

The day’s chores,

writ like holy catechisms.

Every dawn,

a call to worship,

and every evening meal,

a sacrament.

We don’t notice things

until they are gone.

We take for granted,

that all our sins will be forgiven,

until the systems

that sustain our illusions fail.

And fail they will.


is as much a part of the universe

as Creation.

Perhaps that is why

our lives are so short.

How sad would it be,

to live forever,

only to watch everything

become more distant,



with no hope of Spring to come?


Green trees and fields.

The return of forest noise,

and the rush of the rivers.

The steel monoliths

and pavement plateaus

never see replenishment.

The painted lines

that delineate directions fade,

as does order.

Nature restores

what man seeks to subjugate.

An endless spiral

of vanity,

and submission,

and destruction.

The Earth

continues in its orbit,

ever traversing,


and out,

and through.

We blink,

and we are gone,

yet every moment

is as important

as the last,

and the next.

Out here in the wild,

we watch the stars,

and the moon,

and feel all at once,

both alien and native

to this place.

What fate is “progress?”

What future is our destiny?

Can anything truly live

out there?

We are alive here.


we have always lived.



DJR – 2023

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