The Wild has always called me. Out of the depths of a child’s imagination came marching a parade of derivative characters. Then the moments of rapt attention: a tricyle turned upside down:
I turned over my rusty red tricycle in the mud room. Then I spun the wheels.
And listened to their vroom.
Feeling that presence that even now I can’t name.
a single drop on a pond
so many ripples
(first published, Image Curve, March 29, 2015)
Stories. Poetry. Terror and angst. A pulsating, unrelenting drive to do something! The sheer delight in the full moon, sunlight on rippling water, staring eye to eye with a coyote:
A roar. My rear legs step back. But I’m half out of the brush. Curious.
A man. Seated on what makes the thunder. An “ATV,” I’ve heard humans say.
Our eyes meet.
I half-step back.
He stares, but he comes no closer.
I almost smile. Can he possibly know how this encounter changes his life?
More thunder. More men come. I back into the bush.
Leaving him to wonder at the sight of me.
that glimpse of coyote
(my post, November 21, 2017)
Others have tried to tame me. Some have succeeded–for a time. I may cater to the customs of a given tribe in a given moment. But do not mistake my courtesy for domestication. I am a fool of the Wild. Experience my manic-eyed expressions in the classroom. Witness my lust for life in the wilderness. Read my poetry.
Clannad sang it best: The Wild cries out loud in me! I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Bears and coyotes
wander across my landscape
Aren’t we all looking
for our homes?