taking our leave
Moon Creek
you gave us shelter
safety
refuge
wonder
magic
beauty
stillness
respite
all we can give you
is thanks
Hohou, Neyei3eibeihii*
may your waters flow clear
without ceasing
for innumerable moons
*Thank you, Teacher in Arapaho/Hinónoʼeitíít)
Lorica for my soon-to-be-teenage son
at Moon Creek today
I call upon the winged ones
who have fired my son’s soul
since he was small
between him and adolescent angst
I place these birds and their powers
a living shield
to keep him whole as his life shifts
I place the chickadee with his confidence
and the albatross with her ease
the junco with his acceptance
and the eagle with her righteousness
I place the Arctic tern with his strength
and the loon with her devotion
the condor with his perspective
and the kakapo with her contentment
I place the bluebird with his optimism
and the snowy owl with her resilience
the trumpeter swan with his self-esteem
and the Verreaux’s eagle-owl with her wisdom
I place the little blue penguin with his connectedness
and the wooly-necked stork with her lovingkindness
the bird-of-paradise with his persistence
and the falcon with her focus
I place the bowerbird with his artistry
and the woodpecker with her grit
the blue-winged macaw with his compassion
and the ptarmigan with her warmth
all these memories and powers
I place between my sweet son
and all darkness
all despair
between his kind, trusting heart
and all forms of doubt
between gentleness
and the hard world
at Moon Creek today
I gather all these wonders
to encircle him
with their soft strong wings
to sing to him in the dark
that is not yet dawn
to remind him what a gift it is
to be here in the wide world
where hummingbirds survive hurricanes
and plovers calm crocodiles
with their grace beside him and within him
I send him out into the world
trusting he will be true
to who he is
what he loves
and what he stands and kneels for
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)
Moon Gulch to Robertsons
little family
fleeing here all in a ruffle
disappointment dripping
from your deflated backpacks
when will you learn
that like the everywhen
there’s an everywhere
here I am
wherever you are
radiant with wonders
while you go tallying up your
unseen sloths and pufflegs
missed bays and unexplored jungles
I’m sending you a fox
who will walk right up to you
day after day
and right now a big black bear
is on his way to steal your suet
he’ll climb the tree directly under the floodlight –
yes, even while you watch
I’m making a long winter for you
who chased the sun so long
and Moon Creek is practicing her scales now
to sing you to sleep
hummingbirds, nuthatches, kinglets,
two kinds of chickadees –
they’re on their way to fill your kitchen window now
there will be moose to track
and the first wildflowers to find
and, for a time,
there at the end of the plowed road,
you’ll have it to yourselves
I’m putting out pine cones
and mysterious bones for the children
and quiet stars and the axe
and the wood that needs splitting
for the frustrated adults
so your hearts may come into calmness
and most of all
I’m giving you slow and still
and a while to call a place home
