Wild Poems

Beneath ice, water stirs. Rivers still run. Lakes sway gently, as fish gather in warm water pockets; and beaver, otter, and weasels nestle in their dens moving about under their frozen ceiling.

There is a pause now this quiet Solstice time before light slowly lengthens. The temptation, to count the days. To hold our breath until daylight stretches into evening early morning forcing back the darkness.

For the peace and promise of a sunrise. The quickening of breath that comes when we take in the beauty of our surroundings. For the mystery and humility of daring to see how we are all connected.

That's what they call it. When we in the north find ourselves in shirt sleeves in November. It feels like borrowed time. A chance to finish up fall chores that we thought would be missed.

Once in a while, we get a sense of how quickly things move even on a very large scale. Experience teaches us to act quickly or not at all when sunset glows golden pink in the sky.

Much of the time we find what we are looking for-- be that keys or trouble or some form of our heart's desire. It's not news that what we turn our attention toward ultimately gets our attention.