Sleeping Out

Lay my bed in soft dry grass,
On the dependable earth.
Make my blankets reassuring lambswool,
And my sheets, sun-kissed cotton.
My bedroom, a hill-top,
And my window the star-filled skies.
Let me hear the sweet music of the breeze,
As it plays 'piano' on the leaves,
With the accompaniment of nocturnal animals,
Rustling about their business unobserved.
Let the fresh wholesome scents of air and earth,
Waft gently into my olfactory recesses,
And lull me into rejuvenating sleep,
'Neath the trustworthy radiance of the moon.
Let me lie unmolested,
By any troubles of mind or spirit,
But go in and out of restful dreams.
Until the coolness of the predawn awakens me,
And I may greet the day.

The Date

Today we walked in nature.
Felt the strain of lungs and muscles,
As we climbed.
Looked down into a cavernous ravine.
Watched fast moving water swirl and boil over rocks,
And heard its cry.
Were scratched and bruised by vegetation.
Listened for the waterfall.
Climbed down the precipice tentatively.
Slid on scree.
Hopped from Boulder to boulder.
And scrabbled.
Sat beneath a gum and ate a picnic.
Drank cool, unadulterated and dynamic water.
Shed our material skins and dived.
Felt the shock of sudden coolness.
Defied gravity and floated downstream.
Cleaned sand-clad feet, to put on socks.
Climbed again.
Wiped sweat from above our lips,
And felt it drizzle down our backs.
Saw smiles.
Felt the satisfaction of our own healthy bodies.
The perfect way to spend a day.

The Reassurance of Hills

To be surrounded by forested mountains,
Is to be embraced in a hard, cool, freshness,
Much like a firm hug,
From a parent straight from an ocean swim.
It is comforting and invigorating.
Wet body - cold,
Smell - unpolluted, natural, familiar.

To run about on a grassy hilltop,
Is to feel as free as flying.
Wind fills your hair and lungs.
It caresses your skin,
And the warm sun smiles,
Down on your upturned face.

After driving for many hours on monotonous plains,
I look out for the hills on the horizon.
It seems that my soul requires,
The reassurance of hills.

Nature Girl

She does not speak with her mouth,

My Retts girl.

Her eyes and sparkling smile tell me of her love:

For the sun and its optimistic warmth,

It kisses her face and dazzles her seeking eyes.

For the wind and its merry dance amongst the limbs of the tree.

It whips hair into her blinking eyes and smiling mouth.

Of birds calling from all corners and out of view.

They flit about branchlets of the tree carrying nesting.

Of leaves and their soothing rustle.

They mimic her sparkle as they flutter,

Showing alternately their front and back.

I sit and watch as she absorbs her environment,

And receives grateful succour from it.

Rather be Hiking

Life is getting far too complicated.
The bucket keeps filling
And its putrid contents overflow,
Days when my head is just above the surface.
Others when I am scrabbling for a life preserver.
Shut-downs, Meltdowns and exhaustion.
Mind either whirring at an unsustainable pace.
Or disconnected in a cluggy, custardy lump.
So I take some time.
And try to take stock.
But life's routines and dramas,
Responsibilities,
And loved one' crisis,
Are inescapable.
The only real way to re-boot this system.
Go into nature,
And keep on walking.

The solemnity and reverence of falling snow

The slow procession of flakes,
Dropping daintily from the sky,
Like a choreographed ballet,
Fills me with a sacred awe.
The forest quietens,
As the birds and animals,
Speak in moderated tones.
Their home has become a light-filled cathedral.
And they demonstrate respect for its majesty.
I become mesmerised by the passage of single flakes.
And feel my soul cleansed and nourished,
By the freshness of this pure modest spectacle.

The call of wild things

Too long in this stupor,
The relative shelter of brick and board,
Despite the windows,
Is stifling me.
Lethargy and malaise overpowers.
The grey hangs low and heavy,
Chills to the core of my soul.

I dream...
Wind lifting my hair and flushing my cool cheeks.
Soil and stone find temporary union with the mobile flesh of these bare soles.
Cool wet fronds slick against legs and squelch between toes.
Sunlight bathes my skin in a smiling warmth.
The music of creatures mingles with the soft percussion of water on pebbles.
Breathing deeply, crisp air cleanses my constrained lungs, they inflate.
Around me I see the magnificent ordered-disorder of nature.
And I run into this ecstasy.

Natural Cycles vs reality of life in the21st Century

The cycles of birth, growth and death cannot be escaped from,
But they may be morphed.
I plant my garlic in April and my tomatoes in November.
Commercial growers in their irrigated, temperature-regulated greenhouses,
Plant any time of the year.
My veggies are in soil enriched with manure and compost,
Mulched with old straw.
Commercial veggies may not even have their feet in the earth,
But in an NPK chemical-cocktail.
My fruit feels the cold of frosts, moisture of rain,
And has the light of the Sun and Moon on its flesh.
Commercial Fruit, gassed, waxed and polished is stored the long year.

And while I like to follow the patterns of nature,
As a human being:
I still use artificial light to stay up later than my body finds healthy.
I travel  in a carbon-spewing vehicle much faster than my two legs can transport me.
I regulate my behaviour to the machinations of  human society,
And bow to the responsibilities of its membership.
I work in an air-conditioned, artificially-lit and computerised building.
I buy products wrapped in packaging that takes an eon to decompose.
I follow like a sheep, the commercialised festivals of the year,
All of which I abhor.
I am a consumer!

How to reclaim the natural cycles of being a human animal?