The Light is On

Thoughts, Stories, The Poem

A Handful of Fire

Sunrise on the wings of a solstice
A handful of fire cupped for warmth
Against the east wind out of the valley
The land of wildling calls
And ruins reaching high into the morning.
Walk through and find traces of their coming and going
Always on paths cut narrow through wilderness
And stone traces of a life that crumbled around them
But never a glimpse of the lost faces, the sorrowed eyes
Their presence only a whisper out of time
Or soft rustling as of sighs of sweet relief.
This is a dying home for those almost ghosts
All around the green returns and tears away at them
And me in the midst of it all
Watching; feeling with them the slow crawl to abyss

—

Have you ever found a place in nature that you deeply connected with? A place that draws you in and keeps you wanting to come back over and over again? What is the feeling that place gives you?

—

Photo by Tobias Bjørkli from Pexels

Mitchel David Ring

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11 responses to “A Handful of Fire”

  4. There is a place here where you can see across the lake and at “the long bridge” which is a one mile bridge that crosses the lake. With the cabinet mountains in the background, it is breathtaking. It makes me feel like home, you know. That sight is when I remember why I’m in Idaho.

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  5. For transcendental simulations, I prefer Death Valley. And the sublime can usually be found in Big Sur, especially when it’s high surf and bird/whale migrations. But my heart remains at my childhood beach where I learned to Surf, tidepool, bird watch, and have bonfires in the dunes somewhere north of Santa Barbara. Good post. 👋👋👋

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