Feeling Californian

(May 2022. We now begin the Sequoia era, a really excellent poetic era for me. I actually wrote this poem while on a hike near the Grant Grove, after sitting down for a while and writing a lot of The Sequoias Speak, which, as a longer poem I want to take time and edit and post later. Feeling Californian was more of a quick channeling of the spirit. )

Feeling Californian

Walking barefoot on paths of soft sequoia needles
fallen to orange, fallen tongues.
My head is space for many birds and quiet behind.

I will choose to climb any cool rock I see.
These feet are fit to grip granite,
These toes to touch the stone’s texture
And the softness of moss.

The squirrel is speaking in the pew pew of Martians,
Tail pointing with each forward squeal
Incessant until he is heard for important reasons.

The late afternoon sun shines through the sequoias
Sloping downwards to the bright and gentle west.
It will sink below mountains to me before the sea.
I mustn’t linger too much longer on this trail
Else I’ll lose the light I need to find sleep.