Retreat 2014

  • Otter LakePhoto by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Gordon Ripley
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele
  • Photo by Robert Steele

 

Some Musical Sounds for my Ears by Gordo Elliot

Riding on the whispering winds
I hear the music of Strauss in the night.
Riding on the whispering winds

Kettle drums from the deep throat
of Mt. St. Helens as she sings her song.

The ever-flowing Gulf Stream
with its passionate heat
Flowing to British Isles.

Above our group training
Mt Baker, a dull deep sharp snap
sends a 200 ton block of ice
sliding in to a crevasse.
Above our group training.

The campfire flickers yellow and orange
as Stan spins yards
at Tall Timber festivities.

The rhythmic swish
swish, swish of cross-
country skis on deep powder
above Lake Wenatchee.

The eerie howl of a lobo wolf
In New Mexico on a moon lit
Night in the dead of winter.

Laughter of Denise and John
with their clothes on
running across hot sand
Diving into Lake Wenatchee.
With their clothes on.

In Boynton Park the tap, tap, tap
of a pileated woodpecker
digging its nest in the dead sugar maple.

The peal of music from town bells
announcing noon
Boston Symphony time.

Purr of my 20098 Tacoma
with the blare of NPR music.

A good job well done
Thank you from my boss.

Silence screams
to be let in.

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