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.








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