WINTER BLUE

I have led a strange and libertine life and have wandered many trails. I cannot be classified politically or spiritually for like a spring fed mountain river I flow over, under and around. Most often I flow smooth and easy but suddenly under darkened skies I swell with the storms and become a raging torrent.

 

I have been many things; a hunter in the thickets of Texas, a wandering rogue, a logger in the mountains of Montana, a fighter, an artist, a seeker of treasure, a trainer of wild things, a horseman, a collector of the odd and beautiful, an actor and a teller of tall tails. And now you cannot classify me for you know not the truth and that is the way of enigmas.

 

Snow falls and blankets everything in blue white frost. The world seems dead yet underneath the cold powder nature is hibernating waiting for that call to life. That first early ray of light will signal spring and awaken the sleeping grizzly.

 

The green will come and the buds will bloom into a pallet of ever changing colors. The the fall will bring yellow and orange then brown and once again the azure skies will weep tears of blue white flakes.The river will flow and the mighty immovable mountain will yield to the easy ripple and slowly crumble as the icy water cascades, cutting the canyons ever deeper. Nature is beautiful and destructive.

 

I walk among the denizens of the great towering cities as easily as the towering trees of the forest. I commune with nature in all its glory yet I can destroy to make my way in the world. I take what I need and give what I wish. I walk in the path of the pack hunters following the migrating herds.

A savanna pride is playful with its cubs until the hunt. The skittish grazers await as predatory eyes watch from the tall grass. I do not conform I conceal. I do not belong I blend, I do not kneel to tyrants I step aside as they topple into pitfalls of their own design.

 

It is the nature of societies to romanticize the free ranging individualist while always attempting to rope and tame the wild spirit. The herd dose not survive when members wander too far. A tiger is a wonder of nature but better kept in a secure habitat lest you meet one in the dark.

So now you're curious, who am I? What am I? Why do I defy proper classification? If I do not fit neatly into my assigned space. What do you do with me? You have so many labels and none seems to fit.

I'll tell you my secret. I am Winter Blue until the spring comes then like the arboreal chameleon I'll fade into the green. Caution, be advised for other things dwell among the leafy canopy, things that pounce.