Life In Four Directions

The low angled sun
Rises each day, as if for the first time, over Lion Mountain,
Glancing the surface of black water.
Tamarack needles gather on one shore
Glint gold for just a moment,
Sometimes circling
As they rise, then fall
With each breath.
The lake transforms to mercury,
Thick and viscous,
Toughening in anticipation of
The difficult seasons to come.
I struggle to see
Through its hematite depths
As if there, I might find my future.

Instead, images dancing on the surface
Distract me.
Dried reeds echo the water’s rhythm.
Mergansers fish in a rippling, iridescent forest
Of white-barked birch,
Golden Larch,
Ponderosa jade.
Thirsty dogs enter,
Create rings that, circling outward,
Fracture branches
Until the ducks scramble and soar
Away---

The sun’s filtered light diffuses, soon hidden
As it continues its climb toward noon,
Yet my body holds
Its vague memory as
Something I once knew,
But now recognize only as
Glittering light
Dancing through frozen air.

The roiling hematite has stilled.
As I watched,
Each wave,
A gentle drumbeat,
Lapped over the one before,
Freezing while still in motion,
Until all was still.

I can now create a path,
Walk from shore to shore,
And I see what I could not see before.
This path is not mine alone,
Others have come before me,
Their presence recorded here.
And as I notice,
I begin to learn the world.

Tiny tracks of voles cross,
Circling, perhaps playing
As they make their long journey,
Often safely.
Sharp, thin hooves of deer
Break the surface,
Each step sinking deep into the snow.
Once in a great while,
A conquest is recorded
Around those deep tracks
Feathers of fur encased in ice,
A clean rib cage,
A jaw bone,
Wing beats of eagle and raven,
A few splashes of blood,
Tracks of coyote or wolf,
And I still feel the celebration
Of this hard-won moment.

The sun peeks below thick clouds
Just before it sets this day.
It is the perfect time for walking.
A drumbeat begins,
A steady drip, drip, drip.
Snow fleas hold their circus in our footprints
And balls of snow appear at the bottoms of each hill,
Perfect spirals
Marking a trail from top to bottom.


The ice, once solid, reliable, sturdy,
Passage to other shores,
Begins to thin, wither, threatens to buckle,
Forcing me to choose a different path.
My feet touch earth once again
The crunchy beat of each snowy step
Instead muted by soft soil.

A flash of gold
Just before green emerges and settles in to stay,
Marking places I will soon find
Glacier Lilies, Spring Beauties, Calypso Orchids.
The scent of pine, rich earth, pollen,
Fill my lungs with each breath.

I am aware of the silence
Only as it ends,
Replaced by nesting calls of grey jays, nuthatches, bald eagles.
Eggs laid in tree trunks, branches, fields,
Bask in body warmth.

Soon mountain grouse will drum
Their mating songs on hollow logs,
And robins will sing each evening
Their honor song to the setting sun

Until darkness descends.
The day’s heat dissipates.
A fire
At lake’s edge
Creates a glow,
Reaching the rock ring’s perimeter.

I stare into the flames
Leaping into the surrounding darkness.
My eyes follow a spark
As heated air carries it far above our heads.
It becomes a meteorite
Soaring rather than descending
Becoming one of millions of stars
Lighting a sky trail,
Pulsing a steady beat--
The rhythm of the earth,
The rhythm of our hearts
That carries me along to sleep.
I dream, there by the fire,
Throughout whatever time it takes
To become refreshed
And rise to greet a new day.