Issue #107, March 3-5, 2005: A visit to the Polar Star Hut in the Colorado back country. Additional haiku by Tom Hopson, Mary Putman and David Teitler.
back into silence
leaving the city behind
the woods call my name
bear claw on aspen
wet gray scat on white snow
animals precede us
hydrologist tom
plays on water following
his thesis defense
pulling himself out
of yesterday's thesis talk
tom admires the snow
walt whitman haiku
on astronomers door
expressing the stars
the seasons changing
my body also changing
we move together
minute to minute
and season to season
my body follows
quacking like a duck
in aspen tree corridor
rubber skins flapping
breaking the groove
socializing on ski trail
photos, frequent stops
sinking deeper
into nature and powder
polar star canyon
thought she heard music
in the full sunshine
under adam's rib
three layers of clouds
wispy cirrus clouds
high convective clouds
then higher cirrus
thin water layer
what keeps us gliding on:
the science of wax
haiku toodle-oo
romping in the snow -oh ho!
what a day, a day
gaggle of aspen
lovely thing carved in the bark
wind blows over peaks
discussing fine art
on aspen tree bark
beauty lies within
quackity quack
creakity creak
the rhythm of the trail
hey- sing me a song
to boost me up the mountain
row, row, row your boat
tall stark naked trees
watching over as we ski
tom, jon and mary
a pant a wheeze
a pant a wheeze
the dogs they are a barking
are we there? no, not there
bodily angst
mixed with cold, stark beauty
aesthetics knife edge
carrying garlic
on outstretched knife
dave cooks our dinner
lukewarm hot chocolate
tastes good at 11,000 feet
as does just sitting
ice cream made of snow
hut aficionados
dispense leftovers
generous hut mates
give us leftover salad
with all the toppings
icicle creeping
from rooftop to snowbank
wood smoke curls above
roof ice collapses
in small avalanche on stairs
in the dark of night
steadily uphill
this time without a large pack
much to my liking
two guys
named mark and dan
leave ego in snow
fun to talk about
the past
more fun to live in
the present
gaining altitude
skinning up protected slope
away from gentle
relentless warmth of the sun
eleven thousand
feet above the ocean, yet
we play on water
skiing sunset slope
warm colors, afternoon smog
left by contrails
the main events
in the sky above are distant
immediate trees
have nothing to say
good morning:
the hut clatter,
the silverware clinking,
the fire burning,
the hot water boiling,
the blue sky and sunshine awaiting
this frozen silence
the magic play of sunlight
on new-fallen snow
the track to the peak
laid before as a promise
for nature's delight
at every movement
snow crystals dancing in light
universe unfolds
like the nighttime sky
snow crystals twinkle back at me
in broad daylight
so many contrails
tells me the world is shrinking
jets fly above
only two to three miles away
from the contrails
yet as tom says
our reality is completely different
coyote track
ventures out to the cornice
while we just look
meanwhile jet setters
pass overhead
oblivious to the beauty
defying grandma
dave cuts bagel the wrong way
on new york mountain
contrail cloud cover
accounts for global cooling
from this vantage point
unconcerned
about my missing gloves
until i need them
now that we have died
and gone to heaven
we can ski more powder
seven hours later
we skin up the same steep ridge
to ski it again
hidden treasure yurt
like a jewel at sunset
white canvas glowing
the day so young
my wide-brimmed hat cannot mask
the morning sunshine
trying to sum up
with differential equations
our entire trip
bent, but not broken
shouldering a heavy load
sapling waits for spring
not strong, but supple
the trunk of a young sapling
gives no resistance
standing still
yet gliding
the magic of skis
pictionary
not loved by the losing man
who feels he can't draw
not scared of saddam
not scared of donald rumsfeld
here on the mountain
solo/group kukai drawing/writing/photography jonathan machen