Trail  of  Smoke

Don Hynes

Stirred awake at dawn
smoke blanketed the island,
the forests of the Clackamas,
Santiam and McKenzie
lifted into white clouds,
passing on their trail
to the other side.
So many old friends
who knew my name,
sheltered me through
turmoil and grief.

I rose and walked

to the rock point

in early filtered light

to stand on the shore

and honor their journey.

Orcas exhaled

in deep bass sounds,

a line of them

near and far along

the smoke laden channel

signaling farewell.

Years of standing vigil

beside mountain rivers

leaving this life,

their mantle passed,

carried on the wind.

Through The Smoke Hole

Gary Snyder

  

There is another world above this one; or outside of this one;  the way to it is thru the smoke of this one, & the hole that smoke goes thru. The ladder is the way thru the smoke hole;  the ladder holds up, some say, the world above; it might have been a tree or a pole; I think it is merely a way.

Fire is at the foot of the ladder. The fire is in the center. The walls are round. There is also another world below or inside this one. The way there is down thru the smoke. It is not necessary to think of a series.

Raven and Magpie do not need the ladder. They fly thru the smoke holes shrieking and stealing. Coyote falls thru; we recognize him only as a clumsy relative, a father in old clothes we don’t wish to see with our friends.

It is possible to cultivate the fields of our own world without much thought for the others. When men emerge from below we see them as the masked dancers of our magic dreams. When men disappear down, we see them as plain men going somewhere else.  When men disappear up we see them as great heroes shining thru the smoke. When men come back from above they fall thru and tumble; we don’t really know them; Coyote, as mentioned before.

Thank God

Don Hynes

After days and nights 
of smoke and darkness
the rains return, 
precious water 
clearing the sky,
renewing the earth.
Raven calls
from his perch, 
sleek black
in big drop rain.
The sea lays flat,
quiet before 
the winds to follow.

Darkness has been 
on the face of the deep
and now there is light.
We are one tribe,
one earth, one dream.
Thank God for the rain.

donhynes.com/blog