A white Beaver moon
awakens me at midnight
her light so brilliant
I arise, startled –
Imagining a different window…
a cedar beyond the door.
I gaze into the field
of the grandmothers
shivering frost covered grasses
listening…
Water and stone
engage in intimate conversation
as a disappearing river flows
into white sand.
Unable to return the sea
her life blood is cut away.
Wandering about
showered in sliver light
I feel awe –
I spun a nest of warmth
for my dearest companions,
bird, dogs, and trees
out of a cosmic void.
And wonder why I am
still missing that other…
A little cabin in the woods
in the Northland…
where bears and flying squirrels
Foxes, coyotes, coy –wolves
frogs and toads
deer and mink find comfort
under boughs of sweet balsam
on windswept nights,
seek intimacy and friendship
with hungry hearts and eyes.
Here in the desert I find tracks.
But the animals that made them
are absentee friends…
And I am lonely for the field of
Wild Animal Grace
that comes to life
as deer bed down
in heavy snow
outside my door.
How do I reconcile the two?
My love for dear friends,
sparse desert scrub,
red willow, and cottonwood
and the haunting Voice from the other?
A North Country Woman
still calls my name.
