53 plus a whole week of days is 60
centered on a peoples creation story
I rise each day to dawns glory.
Making in roads each day is tricky
as roads are muddy snowy and slippery
put it in 4 and hold it at 50 until the peak.

I found the place to write but winter has a bite
and survival isn't guaranteed so one must find a deed
that pays for the basics to begin with and the advanced
to end with as such the hunter hunts the human needs.

Working for the shelters sanctity has taken time from me
but with each stage of progress it becomes warmer for guest
and I more solid in a definsible space even though next year
holds again the search for another place.

So what can one say that won't give a scent to follow
for the wolves at the door who think they found a score?
How to share a world that is rich but at the core hollow?
I am looking for the book an "Idiots Guide to Relationships"
but I haven't abandoned my raft craft writing or path
but still seeking that path where more than a shadow follows.

Blogging

I have attempted blogging at several points with good intention and vision to start but soon it wanes to the disdain of writing for myself to a white screen that is then published to a public page.

I enjoy conversations much more than preaching or posting to a cyber nation.  In school as a younger man, I did not choose computer programming because I couldn't see myself sitting that long typing text in to a box.  I did program the Heathkit Robot and had fun interfacing sensors, programming voice synthesizers and making things move but writing code for hours on end never moved me as much as building circuits.  Feeling those transistors, resistors, capacitors, inductors and components in your hand and seeing the colored wire arrangement come to life on a breadboard or soldered more permanently did more for me than C.  Yes, machine code talking to the chips directly in 8-bit or 16 bit hex opening and closing busses using logic analyzers to watch the control state and sequential logic flow that was what engaged me.

Now I attempt to blog and to share to find a cyber community the "buzz" says is there.  Yet, I prefer the eyes to share the body language to dance with even if its a nervous dance over coming the shyness of saying hello.  Yes, I try to blog, to blog, to blog and to speak but seldom if ever can I do it every day or every other week.  It isn't that I don't have something to write or say but doing it in person is my favorite way to communicate.

Cheers.

November and December seem a blur to me.  It was moving again and closing loops while moving through the emotional space of holidays not in the space for holidays.  After three tires and Traveling Wave coming to rest, the brakes need some attention and Vermont added another dimension to the aging between last time and this time.  Rust was evident on the calipers and the work took a week longer awaiting parts but the week was well spent even though completely disconnected from the internet.
A flight with my brother-n-law up to Durango and back to Denver again made it clear that between the two cities temporary staging grounds the 53 and 60 were still the places for me.  It is there the Zuni's trace their origins to a Salt Lake and dirt roads give hours of thought within natures palm.  The photo is looking toward Four Peaks a sacred mountain with the foreground being the Superstition range where the Pima Indians tell of a great demon who was caught up in the great flood and when the waters receded came to rest in those mountains.  The months like the great flood, seem awash in events from one to the next moving and preparing for this time now.  Now, when the holidays are past and people re-focus on work.  Now when the plans made all winter can begin to take root and in Spring give birth.  The connection is all things get swept up in a storm, good, bad or indifferent and each must wait for the flooding of unconscious events to soak in to the ground of being.

Horizons

29th of October and skies roll on blue
Distance divide and frame the view.
Who is one that one believes themselves to be?
Or one who is buried under beliefs debris?

A new frame, a full moon and actions come soon
even this play is distracted by what must be done
today.

Dawn-Noon-Night

The morrow has come as yesterday too has sprung,
for now is young and today will soon be woven
in memories now unfolding within silent dreams unspoken.

What is sunrise but perceptions of mine I
seeing what I am willing to believe and conceive
leaving deceit by all I disbelieve judging by eyes
alone whose conscious cataracts refract rays
whose astigmatism manifest fuzzy logic, mine
identity and

your reality this singular day.

All past and future present but don't mention
a life has only one dimension--this day alone.
All else is languages fruit and mental creation.

Rhys's creative play 2012

In the great escape, horses get ill, tires go flat and then you just need to really stop and think where am I at?
The function of being still in a trained instinct to go has a lot of secret wisdom you will never know until you leave the flow by force or intent.
My nature "high strung" or "intense" by observers eyes, was given such a good break by a double take of two tires taken in out in two strokes that it forced me in to a stillness brief enough to be grasped and long enough for me to do the math.  I had traveled 163500 miles previously without a single prick of the rubber wall traveling as far away as Vermont and back again in summer and winter drive.  Now, however, I was alone and new to a community where my rugged individualist immunity had given me no impunity from such a long road of luck's continuity being ended by the air escaping the pressure vessels walls.
I was at a necessary standstill.  The 400 mile needless round trip from 53 to 60 and back again was a frivolous waste of panicked haste and getting caught in another's woeful paste trying to rescue and save the day; my rope once again was begin to fray.  Now I was needing rescue and soon a stranger became a friend who passed by.  I was open because I was broken and that is a small trinket of wisdom's token.  He gave me a lift and our errands became common as he took me to town to fix one of two tires since the spare still held air. 

7 days past-7 streams last

Seventh Day of a new arrangement upon a new engagement where mobile phone are inoperative and heaven aimed satellite is the only prayer for connection to the technological infection where human need for connection and communication can have its fill in seconds what use to take years or months.

I participated and was recipient of a miracle today as I learned gas stations aren't open on Sunday and no magnetic stripe could be read to feed the fuel needs of my truck on return from a family 250+ mile round trip. I awoke on "E" 15 plus miles from the gas station with a truck that can eat 1 gallon in 9 miles with a good load on the axle.  I was half way to my destination when I came across a truck in the dirt just across from El Morro monument with hazard lights flashing but no one standing around scratching their heads as to why Heyokah had moved the road as they went buy.  I soon found them just a bit further down the road trying to find those magical mobile waves so rare upon this mysterious ancient way.  My truck was operating on miracles vapors as I stopped to lend a hand.  I took a rider of the pair in to the cab since the gas station could equally have a tow truck as well as the fuel I so desperately needed. Valentino from Columbia climbed in and this man from urban Denver continued to pray the fumes would get us up the next hill and down the next to the gas station still out of view and more than a mile or two away.  He began telling me that he knew the driver was going to fall asleep but being polite didn't start a fight.  It was a tall Isuzu full of donated goods and the ground nearby is soft sand and in the straight line held like a runaway truck ramp the vehicle did not swerve or roll substantiating the claim the driver was asleep because such a view as the road disappearing would have caused an awake driver to try and return quickly to the road rolling the rig.