Ridge Trail to Awachi
The Estero Americano Creek
snakes her bluish way
through the brown hills
dotted by windbreak clusters
of cypress and eucalyptus.
In the distance,
the lowing of cows.
Wild iris, now dormant,
trampled underfoot;
an occasional cow patty.
Five bleached bones
from a cow’s hip and leg.
The four o’clock fog sweeps in.
Thin wafts embrace the hillside.
The sound of surf
pounds my ears,
as it did the Miwoks’
for thousands of years
by the Estero’s mouth
where wooded hills drop
as steeply as fjords
to their village site, Awachi--
crushed underfoot.
Empty Cup
I love this friend, but my host
tells me it must remain
a friendship.
I saunter along a familiar path.
Here’s a willow
I’ve never seen before, bearing
crowns of mistletoe.
And then another,
a large, broken limb snagged
in its branches, ants feasting
on its rot.
Looking closely at their sinewy bark,
I wonder, have I failed to see
the plenty in my own life?
A stag and three does
wander the meadow inhabited
by wintering sparrows
and all the other visitors.
And the leaves—oh, the leaves!--
no matter their shape or color,
each surface pumping oxygen
so I might live.
Across this page
a shiny ant pulls
its ample treasure.
Raphael Block has lived on three continents and resides happily in Northern California. A long-time meditator, he breathes in wonder at Earth’s and our own rhythmic ebb and flow. He is the author of five poetry books, most recently, The Dreams We Share, and produced a monthly Earth-Love Newsletter (2016 – 2025). To learn more about Raphael, please visit his website, raphaelblock.com, where you can listen to three audiobooks and watch a National Geographic-selected five-minute documentary.
The Estero Americano Creek
snakes her bluish way
through the brown hills
dotted by windbreak clusters
of cypress and eucalyptus.
In the distance,
the lowing of cows.
Wild iris, now dormant,
trampled underfoot;
an occasional cow patty.
Five bleached bones
from a cow’s hip and leg.
The four o’clock fog sweeps in.
Thin wafts embrace the hillside.
The sound of surf
pounds my ears,
as it did the Miwoks’
for thousands of years
by the Estero’s mouth
where wooded hills drop
as steeply as fjords
to their village site, Awachi--
crushed underfoot.
Empty Cup
I love this friend, but my host
tells me it must remain
a friendship.
I saunter along a familiar path.
Here’s a willow
I’ve never seen before, bearing
crowns of mistletoe.
And then another,
a large, broken limb snagged
in its branches, ants feasting
on its rot.
Looking closely at their sinewy bark,
I wonder, have I failed to see
the plenty in my own life?
A stag and three does
wander the meadow inhabited
by wintering sparrows
and all the other visitors.
And the leaves—oh, the leaves!--
no matter their shape or color,
each surface pumping oxygen
so I might live.
Across this page
a shiny ant pulls
its ample treasure.
Raphael Block has lived on three continents and resides happily in Northern California. A long-time meditator, he breathes in wonder at Earth’s and our own rhythmic ebb and flow. He is the author of five poetry books, most recently, The Dreams We Share, and produced a monthly Earth-Love Newsletter (2016 – 2025). To learn more about Raphael, please visit his website, raphaelblock.com, where you can listen to three audiobooks and watch a National Geographic-selected five-minute documentary.
