Standing tall, no matter what

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“Do not forget your history, as it will always keep on, repeating” Gun Roswell

Standing tall, no matter what

Monumentally so, the history ancient and even more recent, keeps on living, in the books, in the movies, even in our very minds, but most of all, it is still strong, out there, in the fields, on the mountains, beneath our very own feet, just look, you really don’t have to long seek. So, so many good and bad reminders, of our own past, but hey, you always take them, as a package, even if with a loud gasp.

All the tall structures, built strong and proudly, to forever last, by our ancestors, without too many tools or even plaster. Some of the structures, still standing, after all the years passing by, laid out on the planes or even elevated high. Despite the weather, the living creatures and nature growing all around, they were meant to last, even if struggling to survive, all those piles, because those are what they mostly are, will remain, long after, all of us, have left.

Waters Edge, on a Sunny Day

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“As the elements of nature you see, water, might just be, the most fun of them, in my opinion” Gun Roswell

Waters Edge, on a Sunny Day

The calming and totally inviting cool blue hues reflected, across the palette of each and every single surface
Beckoned, this, very weary, disbelieved traveller, whom itself had neglected, to take a break without disturbance
The empty banks, which the beginning of the seaside flanked, were a canvas for the imagination now blank
There was no hurry or worry, to do anything else, but to sit down on to the swells, where the rocky terrain dwelled
Then letting the thoughts fly, towards the eternal skies, carrying them off to others spheres up there, high
After all, this time alone, was removed from the continuum, the moment frozen, from any of the other dozen
This, it was the perfect place, to let go any and all hesitate, and simply be, and the surroundings to see
As nothing else really mattered now, only the scenic picture in front and how, special the feeling of simply here being
Amongst the elements, the water, the land, the sky and never asking the why, because this, was the perfect life

Under, the palm tree leaves, I sleep

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“It is, a different kind of fun, hanging there, under, the bright sun, but then again, I don’t like to run”
Gun Roswell

Under, the palm tree leaves, I sleep

The warm winds, gently, heaved, above me, in the tall palm tree leaves
As I laid under there, in the dark shadows, looking up, only to see
The sunshine, now curiously peeking, as if for something, it had to seek
Or then it was just me, being, once again, that one special kind of a geek
As I was conjuring up, all kinds of scenarios, where the very sun, was a being
From another world, with an agenda, and some sort of a ransom, and then chasing
All us, lowly humans, here, on the planet Earth and because of just that, making
Us, to go to permanent hiding, from those ever vigilant and ever searching
Rays so brightly lit, it was becoming more and more difficult, in the shadows to fit
But, for me, the gentle, caring and soft cover, of the tall and ever green
Palm of a tree, provided all the cool shelter, I could possibly ever need

Tall shadows of winter

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“The tall shadows of a low hanging sun in the winter time look gorgeous, but scary too”
Gun Roswell

Tall shadows of winter

First snow fell, heavily onto big piles, all over, the grey ground
Not one single spot of dirt, or other matter, was there, to be found
And as the sun started shining, on one slow afternoon leaving
Tall shadows across the snow in its wake, making shiny sparkles
Like tiny little diamonds, so gorgeous, that all those of us looking
At them, could for a fading moment enjoy the captivating spell
Of this one and bright winters day, after the long and cruel darkness
Broken if only for a tiny fraction of time, and then feeling fine
Almost divine, until it was once again, completely, and totally dark
But even after the bright sun was gone, remaining only, was
That one and hopeful spark, that one day soon, after the moon
Had gone to sleep, the sun would come back, and then maybe, stay
Forever, and then all of us dwellers could spend all of their days
Counting the newly formed, and various kind of shapely shadows
Sometimes tall, more often times short, but the hope of the light
No matter if it was shining bright, was in their own hearts, forever

With dust in my tracks

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“I am always leaving fast, with the dust in my tracks” Gun Roswell

With dust in my tracks

When I do leave, a place, any single place
I usually, like to leave, my own mark as well
Be that something permanent, carved on stone
Or, just simple specs of dust, in the air thrown
So, today, when the sun was finally shining
And the wide open roads me gently beckoned
I jumped into my trusted four wheeled steed
And pushed the pedal to the metal for the speed
The dry and sandy path ahead, to an idea lead
To leave a sign of my being here, on this sphere
As I drove down the lane, like a person, insane
The only thing to be seen, as I left the slate clean
Was the thick and ever climbing, spectacular sighting
Of a cloud filled with small grains, forming the dust
Leaving it hanging in the air, until the day fell to rust

A monster of a tractor

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“It’s big, it’s red, it’s a monster of a machine!” Gun Roswell

A monster of a tractor

It may just be, the one and the only, technological epitome, of equipment for tiny me
The mighty and really large vehicle, a tractor, all over painted, with the shiniest of reds
And this, pretty red one, was going to be the one, driving little old me, all day, around
In the fields open and quite wide, and with this kid, of vessel, it would be difficult to hide
As the mere size of it, was a sight, but, also causing the narrow roads to totally shift
As trying hard, to navigate and avoid, if possible, hitting each and every hidden ditch
But soon enough, getting the hang of the mighty truck, and as it would be my best luck
I managed, to hang on and ride all the way, without too much of uncomfortable dismay
And finally reaching the fields of plenty, to start with my task of harvesting, well, gently
Because this was the one kind of a tractor, that would rise to the occasion, out factored
The cost of the gasoline and other kinds of upkeep, but hey, as it was doing the job so neat
Then what is a small amount of expenses, when the harvest, was done in a less than a week!

A farmers life for me?

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“There is nothing like life on a farm, expect maybe, a life on a paradise island” Gun Roswell

A farmers life for me?

The skies, are totally clear and blue, and the harvest ready, for a very good use
The big ass tractor, waiting, in the yard, ready, willing and able, for me to take charge
Hopping on it cheerfully, as I am, always and now dutifully, all the fine fruitful crops
Going to pick up, as, with my trusted steed, I will ride, into the wide, open field
Making my own way, and of course, the hay slay, as I am that one farmer chick
Who will this hard and often said, manly job lick, with a flick, of my very own wrist
I don’t care, if other people there, just stand and oddly stare, while I am proudly riding
My tractor quite big, doing my chores in a eyes wink, and then all of them charming
With my outgoing and smiling personality, as I am turning out, to be quite the celebrity
Of this small and secluded village, where mostly farmers earn their living off of the land
And, now, so do I, as I am getting high, of this life, of being a farmer, so very nice

Gone fishing or sailing, that is the question, right?

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“Nothing like the cool and calming seas, in the early morning breeze“ Gun Roswell

Gone fishing or sailing, that is the question, right?

When that special kind of occasion sometimes happens to rise
Which makes you totally want to jump up and down, holler and add a big smile
You know what is going to happen once you hop on the bus
Taking you out there, where, there is never, any kind of rush
Where the open air and the calming of the blue seas, forever meet
Just an open road ahead, without any kind of lanes on the streets
The harbour soon visible, and all kinds of vessels are totally feasible
To take a tour around the small side of the world, into it hurled
With a small boat of fishing gear filled up to the hilt, no, it won’t tilt
Or a large luxury type of thing, with sails and all that jazz kinda prim
But what ever you choose, know that with that choice you will never lose
As the most important thing of this day, is to relax and just sway
In unison to those lulling and calming waves, in an uplifting way
So, take a hike, out there, in the open where, no one will stare
At the outfit, you simply overlooked, for this gig, was just that big
Gone fishing, gone sailing, it’s all just in your own kind of mindset
And if you have a spare day to spend, then maybe either sail to the worlds end
Or then, make a small fishing trip out there today, and for a big haul prey
Then the next day, you can take a load off, at that grand type of a yacht
What ever the game plan, don’t just on the pier there aimlessly stand!
But haul your butt to the nearest boat, and make yourself a good day out!

First Snow, has landed

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“It was inevitable, after all, certainly, this late in the fall, as it always, snows here, in the winter” Gun Roswell

First Snow, has landed

In the hours, of the very early morning, the window view, in front, gently opening
To a perfect scenery, not really seen, not at least, since the last remnants, of wintery
Feeling had disappeared, during the early months, at the start, of the new year

The first, of the winters snow, had finally, and, during the dark night, landed
All over the previously grey and totally dull ground, its large wings spread grandly
And into, a crisp, and ever so clean looking, fluffy white blanket, it softly covered

Watching now, from the warmth and comfortable cozy inside, it looked really nice
But knowing full well, it would be, really cold and freezing, with some slippery ice
Then, returning back to bed, and sleep past the day, seemed totally sound advice

Alas, the best option still to handle, the sudden, but not unexpected change in the weather
Was quite simple and that of staying put, sitting down by the window, in a warm sweater
Then, enjoy the gorgeous scenery, as courteously provided, in technicolor by Mother Nature

Another day, out there on the seaside, maybe, even sailing

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“The seaside beckons, each and every day, so getting going, even if I cannot for long stay” Gun Roswell

Another day, out there on the seaside, maybe, even sailing

When the internal clock, clearly indicates, it is that time, for all else, to stop
With all this on going hassle and utter buzz around me, of the daily kind of blocks
And then realising, what I really ought to be doing, and stop my cheeks chewing
I should be out there instead, by those inviting and always ever so enticing docks
And if possible, finding myself, a nice little dingy of a boat, that kind of sort
Then row, row, row myself, out towards there, to the mighty and open wide, unknown

As it happens, and I am all alone out there, in the coolest of blues stratosphere
What ever happens next, really do not give much of a care, as from now on from here
I just want to take my leave from it all, and at least, for a short while, disappear
Let myself some time to do absolutely nothing, but totally to the surround moment sink
Alas, do not fear, I will be back to annoy you all, before you can say with a swear:
“Now, why don’t ya, getta hell outa here, before this shit hits your hair!”