The Field-Watcher When in the shadows of the passing day A seat is found, asleep in calm Soundness, as activity of the mind Cease, and the slow and wavy dreams Of reality vanish by timeless Art, he who observes the secrets Of the fast-forgotten world finds purpose Insensible to sleep, remnant Of future life. The fullness of the stars Softly infuse the distant sky With rays of obscure light, the horizon Ever holds the dawn in glimmer. Douglas Thornton 2018
February 13th, 2015 Aiako Harria yesterday, first time this year; overtaken by the beauty. It is at about this time along the hillsides and in the thickets that the brown of the end of winter starts mixing with the green of the beginning of spring. But an outing like this, though refreshing, can do nothing for the interior state of mind when one is tired and helpless; it only offers a slight reprieve, but we are back again, missing it: the sights, the sounds, the smell of the forest--somehow it only adds to the misfortune. It is difficult to wander along the thin trails because we have built up a reason and an inspiration for our coming; there is a goal, a new plant to find; something to be attained, a new path to take. All the expectation dies with each step, and yet it is still beautiful, still appealing, still the key to some secret meaning we have created for ourselves; and when we stop and look at it all, we realize we are merely the sum of our attainments, the sum that keeps