bears and boundaries
our cabin cradles against the part of the creek
that falls with some energy:
enough to power a tub mill
when the people living here
had no fossil fuels to do the work
of turning hard kernels of corn into meal,
as I sit by the creek and meditate,
open-eyed and stilling,
a movement in the flat upstream catches my eye,
a bear ambles across the creek,
a regular crossing place for bear and turkey,
and then, like a word you can’t quite call up,
moves through the woods just up the valley from houses and yards,
our world, and his, buffered a bit by his choice, and by ours,
bears move at the boundary, as night becomes day,
and day becomes night,
and here when the wild and the domestic intersect,
I found two paw prints down the creek from the house
of where a bear last night crossed the stream at the Ford,
the sand a clumsy form yet I still plaster of paris the traces,
I love comfort while I indulge my love for the wild,
the bear loves the wild and still is drawn to the comfort
of an easy snack from a human’s inattention.
 |
| another bear and cub, same principle |
by Henry H. Walker
July 24, ’15
No comments:
Post a Comment