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The Creative Life
Fresh water pool fed
by silver-tipped waves
and rushing current
made smooth by a circle
of concentric rings
round and round until
I sit alone, in the center
and take one deep breath
happy to have found
asylum before undertow
pressure spills me out
the far side into
Passive aggressive bird characters
Who shove, stand, eat and fly away
In slow progressive march as
The hurried quick step of a mouse
Makes a mad dash across dropped seeds
With the hint of a smile before
An upside down gray squirrel
Reaches out and out, chittering
A warning to nearby hummingbirds
Who have no interest in large seed kernels
Or mammal antics, including the two point
Buck who steals from them all.
The earth is packed down with tree root legs spread out along the path. This is well-worn: a hundred years of human feet between trees five times as old. Ancient interlaced finger limbs overhead filter sunlight during the day and reflected light at night – a mislabeled moonlight. Recycled moisture drips down into upturned faces. No one brings water because silver-tipped waves rush alongside this path; the rocks separate silt from melted snow – its cold milky froth a forest latte’.
It is idealized wilderness. Too many human feet walk the path for it to be truly wild. Even the deer seem less startled and elk have long ago sought a detour. Once I came upon bear scratches, but knew the carnivore was here for the garbage left behind. It is a caricature of virgin Earth. While squirrels do chatter a warning, the birds do not stop their song or they would never sing.