My thoughts
about the wilderness, Bring back fond memories,
Of many
a tranquil moment, Spent camped among the trees.
I often
daydream of it, And see myself still there,
Stalking
a moose or caribou, Or watching a grizzly bear.
I stand
upon a ridge top, My favorite bow in hand,
Awestruck
by the panoramic, Beauty of the land.
I feel like
an alien, In this land of wood and stone,
With all
the steel and plastic, Manufactured things I own.
I walk among
the wild flowers, In bloom across the land,
Uncrushed
beneath incessant, Footsteps of modern civilized man.
I marvel
at the fragile beauty, Of a spider web.
Like jewels,
drops of morning dew, Hang from it's silver thread.
I sit before
my campfire, Eating bread and beans,
Undisturbed
by sounds of man's, Industrialized machines.
By the flickering
firelight, And embers orange glow,
I test the
edge of broadheads, And wipe moisture from my bow.
I lay and
watch the stars, Before I go to sleep at night,
Unhindered
by the city smog, Or artificial light.
Aurora borealis
softly flickers, Up on high,
Painting
it's kinetic masterpiece, Across the sky.
I listen
as the voice of the river, Talks to me,
Telling
of it's never ending journey, To the sea.
It starts
out as a whisper, And then becomes a roar,
As it falls
from mountain peaks, Down to the valley floor.
The silence
of the wilderness, The sweet serenity.
Like a wave
of calmness, It washes over me.
I feel an
inner peacefulness, free of stress and strife,
Free from
all the tension of modern city life.
Sleep comes
to me easily as I begin to dream,
About the
coming days events upon the wild stream.
I awaken
to an awe inspiring panoramic view,
Of majestic
snow capped mountains, reaching for a sky of blue.
Yonder,
the river beckons. No longer can I stay.
Bathed in
the golden glow of dawn, I cast my raft away.
I slide
out on the shoulders of the undulating flow,
And follow
as it carries me wherever it may go.
Through
sheer rock mountain canyons where the raging waters roar,
And black
spruce timbered forest, and willow covered shore.
Past thick,
dark alder swamps, and berry covered hills.
And beaver
ponds and marshland with waters quiet and still.
Past open
rolling tundra, where herds of caribou run,
And placid
lakes with waters that sparkle with the sun.
Beneath
it's crystal water, the river teems with life.
Schools
of salmon and grayling slice the water like a knife.
Beavers
by the dozen, collect their winter store.
Upon the
winds above me, a pair of eagles soar.
In the dense
spruce forests, timber wolves abound.
And wolverines
prowl underbrush, alert to every sound.
Etched across
the sky are flocks of cranes and geese galore,
On their
south bound journey to a warmer winter shore.
And birds
of prey and waterfowl, and grouse to name a few,
And all
the woodland creatures from grizzly bear to shrew,
Help to
make this land into a living entity,
A living
breathing thing that must remain forever free.
I drink
in all the beauty like intoxicating wine,
And feel
the simple joy of life, I soon must leave behind.
And though
I leave this land without an arrow leaving bow,
I feel I'm
richer far, than anyone could ever know.
In memory
of Jay Massey
by Gary
Olsen 1990
