welcome to the haikutimes
Issue #98, Avalanche Basin, Maroon Bells Wilderness, August 19-23, 2004. Haiku and photographs by Jonathan; additional haiku contributions by David Teitler and Michael Conti.
first dazzle of gold
august skies bringing moisture,
dampened topsoil
wilderness boundary
pretty on one side
ugly on the other?
lucky i'm alive
walking with friends through wet grass
the sun coming out
live rat, frozen rat
living leaf, sun-wrinkled leaf
autumn in the air
five weeks in asia
one day back in the forest
releasing tension
breathing, relaxing
legs made of steel
back made of rice paper
dave plods the nine miles
three forty-year olds
hit the trail without their wives
backpacking milestone
nine miles, seven hours
thirty-six hundred feet
before dinnertime
no thunder, lightning
just misty rain on peak-tops
drizzle in valley
in blue and yellow
michael's raincoat and hat
contrasts with forest
missing paige after
800 hours in asia
she would like the woods
i felt a little drop
but i'm not going to believe it
last time, i put on my coat
but the sun came out
as i sat
under a tree
after wet july
the grass
completely dry
carpet of yellow
arnica heals my wounds
just by looking at it
nothing i like better
than to walk on nature's trails
under threat of rain
high mountain ridge scrambling
campsite far below
yellow and purple
imagination moves through
portals of conscience
richness of asia
in art, culture and landscape
matched by these mountains
so honored to walk
across from magnificence
of capital peak
jon walks, draws and writes
negotiating hairpin
all at the same time
it's quintessential
jon walking, writing, drawing
all at the same time
bachelor backpack
that is, until we go home
to each of our wives
always love finding
columbines in crevasses,
pipsqueaking picas
sound of rock falling
bird chirping and wind blowing
stream water flowing
not one motorbike
disturbs this peaceful meadow
i walk in silence
moss-covered boulders
along fast-moving stream
sure-footed squirrel
climbs gnarly-limbed trunk
telling fire stories
from our rambunctious childhood
around the campfire
squirrel with a nut
scampers around mist-shrouded
capital headwall
brown moth on aster:
i think he spent the whole night
sleeping on pink throne
clean air fills my lungs
musky odor fills nostrils
feeling full of life
geodes on the peak
breaking into two to reveal
gem interior
summer or winter storm?
pausing long enough in the
quasi-stormy balance of clouds
and sun
avalanche lake far below
i found a white feather
on a high ridgetop
with the wind blowing
it sat there for me to pick up
the sacred mountain is everywhere
tenacious blossoms
the profusion of wildflowers
at twelve-thousand feet
spherical stones
like a tender male psyche
resting in my hands
"there's a wide swath there
moving to that second ridge "
dave looks at the clouds
a golden eagle
white tail flashing, swoops to look
at gleaming white bone
see jon run
wait 'til he has children
like the rest of us!
cow patty on trail
who could have left such a mess?
elk with colitis?
stroganoff is served!
such impeccable timing -
friend arrives in camp
on his second cast
mike hooks an eighteen-incher
wily cutthroat trout
native resident
red cutthroat gills, leopard skin
now frying in foil
like an electron
the random bouncing of hail
on rocks and branches
certain survial sense
that you feel
cold, hunger and thirst
leaving shelter in the dust
smell of the forest -
but also forest buddies
who explore with me
the passing hailstorm
leaves a five o'clock shadow
pearly white stubble
hey - is that some
microneurotic soil
you just walked on?
slow pace of decay
tree trunk absorbed by the earth,
dark shroud remaining
fungus amungus
chief one-stem does little dance
and asks for two more
theater of life
doing a dance in front of
approaching rainstorm
time is a sculpture
wringing meaning from matter,
energy and mass
watching storms
develop, form, fade
from a ridge-top vantage point
stupendous asters
succumb to enthralled bootstep
in such abundance
i cannot but help but walk on
such precious blossoms
i have a whole day
just to be me, to be
completely free
you only notice
that you have no sense of time
while not observing
everywhere signs of
violent upheaval, turmoil
in silent forest
your youth
under that canyon and stars
is also your old age
under the canyon and stars
the ideals of the few
might infect the ideals of the many
like spam or suicide bombing
thinking of john muir
as we purposefully await
rainstorm at ridgeline
having a hard time-
but why?
with the sight of that
beautiful cut-throat red trout
snatched
from it's native pool
a rock-and-mud slide
carving incongruous route
swath of destruction
first i see squirrel
running up tree with pinecone
then i see pinepile
treading the same ground -
my seven-year recollection
glad to be refreshed
bark like a tire tread
wrapped around that gnarled aspen
grayed with summer rain
with its river of tears
the earth washes it's own body
eroding, sculpting
earth turned inside-out
conglomerate from red wall
ripping through earth skin
simple joy, walking
with all you need on your back
to last a few days
leaving wilderness
i feel domestication
quickly returning
first dazzle of gold
august skies bringing moisture,
dampened topsoil
wilderness boundary
pretty on one side
ugly on the other?
lucky i'm alive
walking with friends through wet grass
the sun coming out
live rat, frozen rat
living leaf, sun-wrinkled leaf
autumn in the air
five weeks in asia
one day back in the forest
releasing tension
breathing, relaxing
legs made of steel
back made of rice paper
dave plods the nine miles
three forty-year olds
hit the trail without their wives
backpacking milestone
nine miles, seven hours
thirty-six hundred feet
before dinnertime
no thunder, lightning
just misty rain on peak-tops
drizzle in valley
in blue and yellow
michael's raincoat and hat
contrasts with forest
missing paige after
800 hours in asia
she would like the woods
i felt a little drop
but i'm not going to believe it
last time, i put on my coat
but the sun came out
as i sat
under a tree
after wet july
the grass
completely dry
carpet of yellow
arnica heals my wounds
just by looking at it
nothing i like better
than to walk on nature's trails
under threat of rain
high mountain ridge scrambling
campsite far below
yellow and purple
imagination moves through
portals of conscience
richness of asia
in art, culture and landscape
matched by these mountains
so honored to walk
across from magnificence
of capital peak
jon walks, draws and writes
negotiating hairpin
all at the same time
it's quintessential
jon walking, writing, drawing
all at the same time
bachelor backpack
that is, until we go home
to each of our wives
always love finding
columbines in crevasses,
pipsqueaking picas
sound of rock falling
bird chirping and wind blowing
stream water flowing
not one motorbike
disturbs this peaceful meadow
i walk in silence
moss-covered boulders
along fast-moving stream
sure-footed squirrel
climbs gnarly-limbed trunk
telling fire stories
from our rambunctious childhood
around the campfire
squirrel with a nut
scampers around mist-shrouded
capital headwall
brown moth on aster:
i think he spent the whole night
sleeping on pink throne
clean air fills my lungs
musky odor fills nostrils
feeling full of life
geodes on the peak
breaking into two to reveal
gem interior
summer or winter storm?
pausing long enough in the
quasi-stormy balance of clouds
and sun
avalanche lake far below
i found a white feather
on a high ridgetop
with the wind blowing
it sat there for me to pick up
the sacred mountain is everywhere
tenacious blossoms
the profusion of wildflowers
at twelve-thousand feet
spherical stones
like a tender male psyche
resting in my hands
"there's a wide swath there
moving to that second ridge "
dave looks at the clouds
a golden eagle
white tail flashing, swoops to look
at gleaming white bone
see jon run
wait 'til he has children
like the rest of us!
cow patty on trail
who could have left such a mess?
elk with colitis?
stroganoff is served!
such impeccable timing -
friend arrives in camp
on his second cast
mike hooks an eighteen-incher
wily cutthroat trout
native resident
red cutthroat gills, leopard skin
now frying in foil
like an electron
the random bouncing of hail
on rocks and branches
certain survial sense
that you feel
cold, hunger and thirst
leaving shelter in the dust
smell of the forest -
but also forest buddies
who explore with me
the passing hailstorm
leaves a five o'clock shadow
pearly white stubble
hey - is that some
microneurotic soil
you just walked on?
slow pace of decay
tree trunk absorbed by the earth,
dark shroud remaining
fungus amungus
chief one-stem does little dance
and asks for two more
theater of life
doing a dance in front of
approaching rainstorm
time is a sculpture
wringing meaning from matter,
energy and mass
watching storms
develop, form, fade
from a ridge-top vantage point
stupendous asters
succumb to enthralled bootstep
in such abundance
i cannot but help but walk on
such precious blossoms
i have a whole day
just to be me, to be
completely free
you only notice
that you have no sense of time
while not observing
everywhere signs of
violent upheaval, turmoil
in silent forest
your youth
under that canyon and stars
is also your old age
under the canyon and stars
the ideals of the few
might infect the ideals of the many
like spam or suicide bombing
thinking of john muir
as we purposefully await
rainstorm at ridgeline
having a hard time-
but why?
with the sight of that
beautiful cut-throat red trout
snatched
from it's native pool
a rock-and-mud slide
carving incongruous route
swath of destruction
first i see squirrel
running up tree with pinecone
then i see pinepile
treading the same ground -
my seven-year recollection
glad to be refreshed
bark like a tire tread
wrapped around that gnarled aspen
grayed with summer rain
with its river of tears
the earth washes it's own body
eroding, sculpting
earth turned inside-out
conglomerate from red wall
ripping through earth skin
simple joy, walking
with all you need on your back
to last a few days
leaving wilderness
i feel domestication
quickly returning
solo/group kukai
drawing/writing/photography
jonathan machen
drawing/writing/photography
jonathan machen