early or late
time for light praises
moments merry-go-round
cycle slow to the outskirts of town
three notes cue your début
dance joy into wonder
and if burdens still tattoo you
shake loose your old skin
resurrection’s patience is always open
for the willing🪶
There are no tourists now
No trekkers following close behind
No hikers underestimating the distance
Overestimating their stamina or agility
Almost a whole year’s income forfeited
The guide paces his village
His friend, porter when they’re on the trails
Leading the curious from around the world
Over steep mountain passes
Counselling on how to safely pass a Yahk caravan
Returning from a trading journey in Tibet
Designing routes to accommodate trekkers’ demands
Limitations or schedules or delays due to altitude sickness,
is anxious too but not so anxious as the guide
Who thought he could endure month after month at home
Being a grandson a son a husband a father a farmer
Stationary
His friend says we will rebuild and we will soon again traverse
High mountain passes through Langtang, Annapurna, and the mighty Manaslu
We will stand at the edge of the world and watch the clouds fill up
the depths of Kali Gandhi Gorge at Khopra Ridge
They will return and we will guide them again, my brother
But the guide is inconsolable
He retreats into himself and does not eat
No one will remember us he tells his friend
The world is afraid of us now
The trekkers are gone forever and we are nothing
In the West, we do remember
Two humble young men who became guardians
To us in an unfamiliar and perilous landscape
Its spectacular natural beauty eluding capture
In photographs, its vistas defying description through mere words
Two who educated who held us when we ran out of breath
Whose patience coaxed us to the survival side of our trepidations and fears
Whose care and kindness effected permanent changes within us
We do remember
With a bond borne of gratitude and love
And upon receipt of our nominal gift the guide sends his quiet message
Namaste. Thank you, mama and papa, for thinking of us
It’s so strange having no work when we are always ready
But you are right maybe
We will all somehow make it through to 2022
One day maybe we will again see you
I read his words through a blur
And hope somehow that distant dream might come true.
From above I saw them
Trio of pale mountain travellers
Sipping slipstream cooling parched tongues
Coats reflective of filtered autumn sun
Unhurried untamed unworried
Aware yet unmoved by human presence
I stood watching still as a stone
And imagined us as one untethered beast
Oh fleet footed wild ones
Were I able I’d run with you
After winds at our backs
Manes like wings flashing as we gallop high
To perilous wanderings of these unpredictable shadowy mountains
I am far away now
from everything familiar
It’s after sundown, dark
The air smells of smoke
heavy from bamboo smouldering
Crickets are singing, or katydids
And something else
A woman’s voice rising out of the darkness
Over there near the fields
we rode bicycles past today
She sings
or keens
The melody is in a minor key but
I don’t understand the language
Perhaps it’s a lullaby
I am lying here in this hammock
a young attendant just brought by and hung for me
It’s in that army camouflage pattern
In the courtyard, I saw samples of bombs
grenades and land mines recovered from the landscape here
I am looking at my familiar from a distance
From another angle
This location in the world
I am reading Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale
I read it before, a long time ago
It seemed like brilliant fantasy work then
Science Fiction, a Fantastic Tale
It doesn’t seem like fantasy now, this time
I’ve felt the breath of Possibility.
Have I changed so?
Or has the World changed?
Maybe I have been sleeping
Maybe I’m just waking up.
You see now, don’t you?
Home is where you come from
Of course it is
But Home is also
where you are now.
It’s my birthday
I’m not a heart-shape
I was only born on Valentine’s
there are still things
I heart can recommend
like when your bag’s full
you’re on a lonesome road
on a hillside looking out
over places you’ve already been
or winding pathways up ahead
it feels both great and good
to stop along the way
share the beauty and a bit of bread
with a hungry stranger friend.
https://soundcloud.com/fhaedra/portugal
I feel your age and walk
softly across your cobblestone
I climb your steep hills
to arrive at secret doorways
I wear a skeleton key to enter
ascend narrow stairwells
I gaze out toward your open seas
from your stone towers
I am awakened by the bells
of your ancient hallowed cathedrals
I listen to the clackety clak of your railways
passing through fields and orange groves
I see the clothes of your citizens
drying in the calm breeze
I read the graffiti
on every abandoned wall and building
I intake the freesia in your fragrant air
I sip the wine you leave for me
next to baskets of ripe fruit
I lean in to you to catch
some small fragment in your language
I am breathless
refreshed, enraptured
I absorb your grace
I am totally here
Minha bonita
Portugal.
Standing on the
platform at wing
listening to Leonard
Cohen and Old Crow’s
Crazy Eyes.
The sun rises
through a small hole
Clouds the forever
land sky scape.
my shoes no
longer fit
My blood is full
of wine.
O pilot please just
get us through
this hole of light
on time.
If I am struck blind
never see another sunrise
watch how shadows cover ground
never read between lines
surrender to
touch in time.
Filling pages
places I have passed this way before.
Closing windows leaves an open door.
Call me when you come upon
the perfect photo play.
Pencil Notes 