Thanksgiving: Animals
A Little Noticing
In our little yard today I spied
a red-mustached flicker
hammering away at the powerline pole
and the hole
a male house sparrow with only
half a beard
(out-of-breeding-season plumage)
two wildly different grasshoppers and
a velvet-black jumping spider
in and out of the bed.
Who knows how many other souls
I failed to find
and
what they meant to say,
blessed hearts beating
a wall away from mine
living our own loops
hiding deep in our snug holes.
McKinley Park Sit Spot
beneath a net of emerald leaves
riding a raft of restless wind
back to earth
brow to sky
I’m home
what the spruce knows
it’s that time when the creek runs loud and brown
sending the dirt of the road
through the gulch in a torrent
punctuated by white foam
and circling eddies
thrusting sharp sticks ahead
the air has just gone soft
and the snow is nearly melted
the big animals have gone wary
readying for campers and motorcycles
they move across the steep hillside less
their tracks left after dark
the green things begin to prick the soil
and grow wildly
twisted stalks sprouting thick wavy green leaves
and the Oregon grape strews little suns of yellow
blooms across the ground
the air fills with the sweet promise of honey
she still comes and sits every day
taps my trunk with a warm sideways palm
greets me with the old words
Tous, Neyei3eibeihii*
sits down on my curved trunk
gone flat against the dirt and creek bed slope
sometimes she leans her head against my rough bark
and we think together for a time
sometimes she simply rests
in the presence of Moon Creek’s rush
I breathe into her phenols of calm
and the belief
that above or below the ground
we’re all one
our cells align in revelry
we don’t speak
just be for a time
and when she’s ready
I let her go
*Hello, Teacher (in Arapaho/Hinónoʼeitíít)
Cedar at the sit spot
sometimes when I’m sitting quietly
waiting for nothing
he comes
it’s the sweetest sort of communion
Tous neyei3eibeihii*
he says to the tree that shelters us
and we sit together
contemplating the creek
the woods
the snow
and mostly the gift
of another soul
who knows how to be
silent still attentive and grateful
he magnifies my joy
* “Hello, teacher” in Arapaho/Hinóno’éí
