the glad immeasurable

I do not count them, the trees –

instead, I walk into them
as one does into sunlight

or into unexpected joy
along the needle-softened path

here I am most at home –
drifting like birdsong

beneath and between
the glad immeasurable

© Sarah Whiteley

November hike

I wake before the wrens
so that I can hike
alone up the rise
and watch the gold
of new light arrive

and each time
there is a pleasure
in its crunching
beneath my feet like
bright, brittle ice

© Sarah Whiteley

fresh as new nothing

high above the canyon, the bumblebee wears its band of orange as it slips into the lips of the lupine

I have clamored up the steep creek, braving the slickness of rocks and roots for this spoon of solitude

up here, I am as anonymous to the wind as fierce-clinging heather – alone with ballads of bees and fresh as new nothing

© Sarah Whiteley

I’m slowly adjusting to my return to “civilization” after an adventure in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness. Mostly I am trying to hold onto that feeling of space and freedom for a while longer, but more posts about my experiences are sure to follow in the coming weeks. And for the first time, I journaled my experience with the help of a little weather-proof notebook my brother and his wife brought me on their last visit. Very handy!

the maps are out

hot coffee, and the maps are out –
the rise out of Box Canyon
an uneven line of red

a map may tally an ascent,
mark the twists in a trail,
lend certain assurances

what it cannot show is emergence
from a stone-heavy world
into the mercy of pines –

into the stalwart grace
of a waiting mountain,
where the rushing creeks sing
and the winds hum along

© Sarah Whiteley