The last day of September… didn’t I tell you that there were 37 minutes to the hour? Why… yes I did. Time is such an illusion.
The peace of the morning tumbles to the sound of hunters rapid gun fire. It echos across the lake in a surging wave that screams ‘death to you’. It disturbs me, and I remember where I am; in small town northern Michigan where hunting is a way of life and some to practice the life of survival by living off the land anyway they can. And then there are those that do it for sport. I choose to not even let myself go to ‘that place’.
Still, the beauty of the morning rises with the Sun. The cumulous clouds lay a mountain of puff on the tree horizon in a slow roll over the lake, making me want to jump high for a float in the blue sea of sky across the land.
The blast of the bullets fill the air
Carries the ache of death in the wind
There is no match in my consciousness
for the beauty of the morning rising
and the rapid fire of bullet to soft flesh
There is no place in my serenity that
lingers in the snuff of death by hunter
Or can I fill my mind with the leak of blood
that lays it’s drench on the forest floor.
No matter my knowing of creation and death’s circle
There is no hiding from the circle of 3D living
Where Love and fear play out dualities dance
and the beauty of a morning Sun rises to
Share it’s moments with the bullets of death
On the the green and blue sphere of Earth
Choice is to be made in these moments
as the land births a new day and the gun
ends the day for a life worth living
Whether to quiver to the fear of dying
or welcome the glory of Sun rising
It’s all happenin now.
