Got bored... wrote

Here's a silly little poem I wrote:



On an autumn yellow field
On its edge
Next to a hedge
I lie
And watch the painted clouds drift by.

They cover nearly all the sky
And gray the field on which I lie.

But sometimes, through their orange-blue shadows
Sometimes, the Sun will shine
And light their peaks like golden wine.

Then they close, and reach the hedge
Up, over, and now past its edge.
And as they shut the Sun's bright eye
I wonder
Who longs more for wind and sky
And sunlit wings on which to fly
They or I?

First Post

Well,
I really have too much work to do right now. So in a wild spurt of creativity and procrastination, I have created a blog. My hopes for this suedo-publication are modest, I attest. It seems a good enough place to ramble on with my backpacking stories, engaging conversations, inspiring thoughts (these in particular are few and far between), and other such whatnots that no one wants to listen to anyways. Although I must admit that somewhere deep within, I harbor the fanciful notion that some pitiable individual may stumble across this beleaguered prose by chance and, bowing to some unfortunate human curiosity, perhaps read it. But I doubt this will be the case.
However, if by some chance the reader is in fact actual, I extend a warm welcome to have a seat in the rocking chair on the porch and watch the day roll by and listen to my yarns. Like the time I was climbing Santa Fe Baldy and...