underfoot the divine soil, overhead the sun...

when the seasons change i read walt whitman and am happy to be alive.

 a reminder to go out into the world, the real world of earth and flower and fire. to feel it under your feet, on your skin, to loafe and invite your soul and be in the wild mystery.

darin and i went up into the mountains. golden yellow aspens and green pines welcomed us, a forest of explosive color and magic. it was like the daylight blew wind into our souls, fresh and cool, down into our legs and sparkling in our eyes. that is what happens.

we stopped at tragedy springs. it was totally different from when i was there as a kid; i always remembered an ice cold well or water pump and some cute little visitor center. now it is just a cluster of abandoned buildings and a gravesite. 

death=life, tragedy=regeneration. 

a maiden's grave becomes a blooming sage, a feathery fern.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,

And the die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

they were blasting rock at carson pass, so we stopped to hike a while. it got quiet and an owl flew calling overhead and a tiny pond mirrored the sky. i could see the peaks of round top and thunder mountain as i wandered out, wishing i could get lost awhile.

 my favorite bakery in all the world. any time we head over the mountains we stop to see the beautiful proprietess that all the boys love and taste her wickedly delectable goods. we had coffee and pie; mine marionberry, his lemon sour cream. nothing like a great slice of pie in a cozy room with a fireplace, pumpkins, wooden bar and twinkly lights.

then for more walking, creeks, burls, stones, meadows. 

layers of color rich as umber, rust and blood.

I am enamour'd of growing out-doors...

off i go...I tramp a perpetual journey, (come listen all!)

i'm cheesy, but struck by how nice it is to have a crush on your own husband, it's embarrassing!

What is commonest, cheapest, nearest, easiest, is Me,

Me going in for my chances, spending for vast returns,

Adorning myself to bestow myself on the first that will take me,

Not asking the sky to come down to my good will,

Scattering it freely forever.

Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems.....

The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun.

all lines from Song of Myself.

dress: $10 on etsy, came with matching vest

little brown vest: borrowed from em

slouchy hat: thrifted 50 cents

sandals: thrifted 1.50

boots: had forever, cheap knock off mocs