Healing balm, out of time,
In mountain time,
Here I was born.
Yesterday, today, all feed into one river.
While foraging for dreams up canyons and draws,
Thousands of elk move in slow dance all ’round me.
No wind, no sound,
They eye me with curiousity and caution.
Funny–my own body, still living in a wired world–views their natural rhythm
with caution and curiousity.
A distant drumbeat, a forgotton history
echoes in snow covered cells.
I can go there. I know I can.
This I am wired for, not the crooked world I left behind.
My neighbor and I sit in his truck,
Like a blind, out of the wind, on the two-track, we share his scope to watch the elk.
We are wrapped around the rocks of regulations, government policies, Game & Fish ordinances.
Dusk settles,
Magic dominates the landscape.
The animals, deep in contemplation, alter time into a plastic putty while
Our conversation meanders around tales of magnificent creatures.
I have the eerie feeling
I have been here before.
We’re hiking steep talus slopes, along the ridgeline, down through an ancient forest, looking for teepee rings, dogs drinking snow melt, on a hot May day.
The pastor and I.
I call him ‘Captain, my Captain’ and let him lead the way following no trail.
“You’re my guide into the unknown”, I tell him reassuringly.
“I smell elk” the pastor announces.
Who says that?
Only men who are willing to love; to feel so deeply into this life that their hearts are torn open
Like the young moose carcass breathing its last breath,
Whose skull I’m carrying up the hillside back to the car
My hands heavy with the weight of her last story.
“It stinks” my friend says as he opens the hatch of the 4-Runner with
this prehistoric breast staring at him. “That’s the ugliest damn thing”.
“Its a reminder of the impermanence of life” I tell him.
“That’s good” he replies in a two word sermon.
And we drive home, smiling, a preacher and a pilgrim
Oh, what a time this is.
