Call of the Wild
When I’m away too long, wild comes to look for me. Shows up unexpectedly, like the coyote who found the muffins I’d crumbled for the birds. Wild calls to me, insistent, like the blue jays in the pine tree. Over and over, until I answer.
Wild knows about survival. Is shrewd and scrappy, like the chipmunk skittering across the grass to beat the squirrels to breakfast. Wild is the sunning snake, right by my front door.
Wild knows who to trust, and when it’s smart to hide. Wild is a seed that grows well any where. She has no need of pampering, but is tickled by your attention.
Wild holds secrets beneath her wings, and when the wind is still and silent, tells everything. Wild remembers the dark beginnings. The patient taproot,
the intricate spreading. Wild never hurries, yet waits for no one. She listens with her soul, and has no need of calendars. Though some misunderstand her, wild always acts with elegance.
Wild is the synergy between the moon and sea.
The heartbeat of everything that lives and breathes;
Wild makes us One.
LBM 8/2/05
