I came to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately…and not, when I came to die, I had not lived.
Henry David Thoreau. “Walden.” 1854. Continue reading Walking with Thoreau. We trod the Maine woods.
I walked through a wood one summer’s day, Afternoon light dappled a forest glade; Lily pad in green-black pond and on it lay A frog whose languid croak appeared to say, As he scratched white belly in sun’s warm ray, I shall not move on this hot summer’s day. Continue reading The Frog and the Granite Shore, Part I
Deerhide moccasins (Hobnailed boots tread native path) Slip quietly away Continue reading Progress
One day while in Maine I went for a hike on a sunny September day. I had often driven by the head of the trail but always had some other plan. But this day my goal was to trek to the end of the trail that captured my heart. Called Little Moose Pond, the trail wound on and I soon found my breath coming hard. … Continue reading Forest Magic
No trace left behind As footworn path slips away Forest echoes past Continue reading Primeval
The tall, white mountain beckons, beckons me across the years to return, calls me to climb again his steep, rocky face by the trail beside the stream. The stream of cold, cold water that rushes down the mountain much faster than I will ascend the mountain, rushes by with a gurgle, a gurgle as if laughing at my slow, halting progress. Progress marked by lungs gasping for … Continue reading Old Speck
I love to sit on the rocks at Ka’ena Point, and Wonder at the beauty of the sea; I love to stand atop Old Speck, and Gaze in awe at God’s handiwork about me; I love to lie in the open field Near Spencer Pond at night, and Ponder the vastness of the universe Spreading out before and beyond me; I love the simple joy … Continue reading I Love To Sit On The Rocks At Ka’ena Point
Writers Envy 