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All this new stuff goes on top
turn it over, turn it over
wait and water down
from the dark bottom
turn it inside out
let it spread through
Sift down even.
Watch it sprout.

A mind like compost.

–Gary Snyder

Writing to you from rural Japan…

The High Sierra of California is a really incredible book I must say – incredible in both a visual sense and a literary sense. Puts a quiver in your heart as bedtime reading. It’s inspiring me to get to the Sierras this summer and/or next year. It includes writings by Muir and Snyder, as well as beautiful woodblock prints by an artist whose name alludes me at the moment. Definitely worth a read.

by Gary Snyder, whose birthday was the 9th. 76!

I went into the Maverick Bar 
In Farmington, New Mexico. 
And drank double shots of bourbon 
		backed with beer. 
My long hair was tucked up under a cap 
I'd left the earring in the car. 

Two cowboys did horseplay 
		by the pool tables, 
A waitress asked us 
		where are you from? 
a country-and-western band began to play 
"We don't smoke Marijuana in Muskokie" 
And with the next song, 
		a couple began to dance. 

They held each other like in High School dances 
		in the fifties; 
I recalled when I worked in the woods 
		and the bars of Madras, Oregon.
That short-haired joy and roughness –
		America – your stupidity. 
I could almost love you again. 

We left--onto the freeway shoulders--
		under the tough old stars-- 
In the shadow of bluffs 
		I came back to myself, 
To the real work, to 
		"What is to be done."

by Gary Snyder

One of my favorites.

— 300,000,000— 

First a sea: soft sands, muds, and marls 
	— loading, compressing, heating, crumpling, 
	crushing, recrystallizing, infiltrating, 
several times lifted and submerged, 
intruding molten granite magma 
	deep-cooled and speckling, 
		gold quartz fills the cracks— 

— 80,000,000— 

sea-bed strata raised and folded, 
	granite far below. 
warm quiet centuries of rains 
	(make dark red tropic soils) 
	wear down two miles of surface, 
lay bare the veins and tumble heavy gold 
	in streambeds 
		slate and schist rock-riffles catch it – 
volcanic ash floats down and dams the streams, 
	piles up the gold and gravel— 

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