Owen took these photos
shapeshifter
in the thicket
sunlight flows
and shadow flickers
unremarkable
except for a
white twitch of tail:
leopard
Tag: wildlife
Saddle-billed Stork
Owen took these photos
Saddle-billed Stork
out of the world
of tribal masks
and dances from the spirit realm
comes an ancestor
tall on thin black legs
with a bright white body
like a spotlight
then a long brilliant bill
orange-red like a night fire
off in the bush
then a shaman’s face
black, bony, banded
with ceremonial pigments
the same fire engine red
but also taxi cab yellow
he stands two hands higher
than the tallest reeds
herky-jerks his way
through the shallows
shaking his magnificent head
like a melodramatic puppet
bends low
comes up awkward
with more fish than he can swallow
manages anyway
ends up with a bream-shaped bulge
in his long smooth neck
when we drive past him the second time
I’m just as awed –
again he appears as
a fierce young warrior
long-limbed
and all adolescent elbows
talking to animals
Owen took this photo of Woody the bushy-tailed wood rat today.
talking to animals
goodnight, Woody
we cheerfully say
wishing the pack rat in the shed
sweet dreams
(or a productive evening, I suppose)
I bring the hummingbird feeder in
and start to retrieve the chairs from the deck
when a bit of electric green zips to me
hovers about my face as if to say
I was still working on that!
I’m sorry
I say out loud
I’ll bring it back
then hurry to the kitchen
like an apologetic waitress
hang it up
then call to her in the fading light
when the mountains outlined in kohl
send their snow-white glow
out like moonshine
here you go!
we dream of talking with animals
(manage it with pets)
and once I read an instructional book:
clear your mind
the animal will insert images –
but nothing arrived
here, living with wild lives every day
it seems possible
that they might understand a soothing tone
trust a slow, calm movement
teach us what to say and how
improve our boorish manners
come into relationship
with some well-meaning bumbling apes
snowshoe hare
snowshoe hare
the boys hang out the kitchen window
to watch each hop
each twitch of the nose
flipping from brown to white
what sends them over the edge, though,
is when he washes his face with his paws
burying his forehead in his hands as if in shame
then stroking his cheeks and whiskers clean
oh my gosh he is so cute!
Alex calls him Dirty Harry
this huge gentle soul
midway between unnoticeable rock
and drift of white snow,
now in 1970s basketball player phase –
sporting tall white sweatsocks
and terrycloth headband
(his so-long ears haven’t quite browned yet)
each hop reveals those ludicrously long hind feet
that allow him to nearly hover above the snow
instead of postholing like us ungainly apes
and when he turns we glimpse his
diminutive bedraggled white-centered tail
his warm brown eye regards us calmly –
no talons or fangs:
nice enough neighbors
it seems he feels
tonight maybe he’ll sleep below the deck
his heart keeping time with ours
porcupine
porcupine
crawling up the rough road
headlights beaming a swath of light
a pile of pine needles
comes to life
straightens out
and trundles across the road
its spiky fur flops around
black at the base
tan at the tips
he’s unaware
it’s a bad hair day
aww
we all say
it’s so cute.
I want to give it a hug!
(maybe not)
in no rush at all
he’s lost in the brush soon enough
just another first
in our long year of new
new to the neighborhood
looking down at El Capitan Lodge from the slopes of Taylor Hill
new to the neighborhood
they peek out and test our scent
Goldie the ground squirrel
popping up from the rocks at the edge of the deck
the pair of pine grosbeaks
decorating the aspen before leaf-out
and the mountain chickadees
unabashedly evaluating a nest site
while I gawk five feet away
in mid-morning
violet-green swallows careen about the eaves
regardless of where we are
and any time we’re in the woods
the gray jays find us first
I try to strike up a conversation
introduce myself
but their eyes are on our palms
wondering whether we’re handout types
exactly 28 minutes after
hanging up the hummingbird feeder
I hear him pause midflight
I rush to the window
just in time to see him take a sip
seemingly not to his satisfaction
then he buzzes up a story
looks me in the face
as if to say
puh-lease!
we’ve seen deer tracks in the dirt
and woodrat scat in the shed
(beside the ripped-open recycling)
and this evening
a ball of sunset glow came trotting
down the hill to the east
lighting up the family room windows
jovial, unconcerned
we leapt up
and as if to put us in our place
the red fox squatted
marked her territory
and nonchalantly kept going down the road
we’re summer people, after all
unlikely to make friends
(despite our best efforts)
glad to settle for some
curious new acquaintances
