poem wrote camping this summer

The mossy logs change
from year to year
By the brook, and
Ash rains down on me
As the winds change
"we are star dust
And we've got to get back
To the garden"
Drifts through my head.
My mind settles a little &
I try to make sense of the
Turbulence of the past 5 years.
Ever since I went on a solitary retreat
And I had the corrosive thought
That my conditions are not right.
I began to resist reality
And gradually sunk
Into the negative undertow
Leading to selfish delusional greed.
But I'm turning this rig around
Not like the gliding circles
Of birds of prey
But like a Dharma follower
Who glimpses the goal