Dragon Dance

Today we danced the dragon......
mysterious olden creature
from days of power passed
guardian of wind and water
brought to life by nine among us
chosen to breathe movement
into his long supple body...
dragon...red sea robe writhing...
follows dancing teaser to
pai a bow here to these ones gathered
pai a bow there to those ones watching
his shimmering body move...............
dragon dances and flows with magical rhythm
warrior beats of drum cymbal and gong
enticing him to ripple high...up and down
sway low...side to side
twist into and around himself
once...twice...thrice...........
head and body raised high to sky
while radiant tail thrashes to and fro
dragon follows the heart...pounding....beats
curls and circles... wrapping like sister snake
and rests momentarily...
but his head turns this way...his head turns that way
reaching high and tall
to capture teaser spinning tauntingly
before his fearless...open...mouth..........
once finished with the play
dragon uncurls his body
and twirling and twisting
dances boldly to beat of generations past
brought to life by generations present
in remembrance of generations...coming...

Sugarloaf Mountain

The rain has finally come..........after what seemed like endless days of scorching Colorado sun bringing daytime temperatures of over 100F...........huge thick drops showering and splashing sideways onto mother earth...dropping brief relief on the parched ground and inhabitants. Here...the sun's rays can be so hot that even a violent rainstorm does little to alter the dryness of the ground...once the shower passes the earth is back to being...dry. The strangest thing about Colorado rain is that it is chillingly cold...snow cold...even in the heat of summer. Perhaps this is due to the altitude of the area......the mountains begin their ascent to the sky a mile high from the level of the sea where by contrast...the summer rain is usually warm...and always seemed to invite me to run into it...face upward...to receive its refreshing dew.
Moisture in all forms... rain ...snow...hail...sleet...are a constant topic of conversation for those who live here...especially during the summer...since the threat of forest fires is often...extreme. There have been a few notable fires in this area...the most memorable to me being the Sugarloaf Mountain...or Black Tiger...fire. This one...begun by an oblivious tossing his cigarette carelessly onto the parched mountain side...burned for four days...destroying forty four human homes...and over two thousand acres of beautiful...lush...mountain land...forcing unknown numbers of wildlife to seek shelter elsewhere. That Sunday in early July...sixteen years ago...my family and I had gone to Sugarloaf to visit friends. Shortly after turning onto Sugarloaf road from the western entrance... the smoke...and flames...became visible. The fire had just begun...on the eastern side...about 12 miles away...and was moving fast. In the five minutes or so that...mesmerized...we stopped to watch as the flames gathered speed and height...and spoke to the fire fighter volunteers who were just beginning to blockade the road...the fire had consumed numerous homes and was shooting flames furiously in our direction. The fire spread so quickly that our friends...forced to flee their home within minutes of the fire’s start...could see their house...and all their worldly possessions... burning to the ground as they drove to safety. In the next four days...the fire was visible from all directions ...the dense gray black smoke choking the air...our lungs...and our eyes. The fire burned all sides of the mountain...finally descending down its south face in Boulder Canyon...stopping just feet from the creek...which it surely would have jumped...and barely sparing several houses below Boulder Falls...
I look at the remnants of the Black Tiger fire every day...as my travels up and down the canyon bring me alongside the slowly renewing mountain...also visible from Boulder. I have watched... over the past fifteen years...the charred trees and earth... ever ... so... slowly ... renew...a little more...each year. Now...although many of the scorched tree skeletons still stand...the ground has grown a green cover...replacing the scars of the encounter. Watching the...painstaking ...and long...rejuvination process the mountain has undertaken to recover from having been burned... gives me hope in the healing power of time and helps me to see that we are not so different from the mountain...as we attempt to recover from whatever it is which has scarred us...sometimes letting the charred "trees" of our lives... reminders of our experience...coexist as new growth pushes through the damaged parts of our being...layer by layer ... year by year...

Crackling Twigs

Brown bear
sprints spryly across road
fur and feet flying...
the sudden glimpse given
soon...marked only by
the crisp sound of twigs cracking
in the deep...silent...forest.....

Within Solitudeness

Within solitudeness
I have learned...
to turn my mind...away
from where my heart
wants to go.....
so only a dull ache
pounding remains...
pulling me back here....
to this moment......

Lost in the City

My encounters with the "untamed" animals of this area continue....as last night... on my way to class to study and practice the art of being martial... two small bucks...deer antlers not more than 8 inches high...cross the busy street right in front of me. They surprise me...it is rare to see deer...especially such young ones...so far into the city. I wonder if it is the same two young deer I've seen in the canyon for the past week or so...eating dangerously close to the highway... between the rushing creek on one side and the wall of rocks on the other. I know the journey involved in getting to this part of the city...no matter which direction they came from...they are about a mile from the foothills directly to the west...further if they came from the north or the south...nothing but streets of traffic, houses and other structures from there to here.
One of the bucks is limping slightly...indicating a brush with some kind of encounter...but otherwise they look unharmed. When they've crossed this street I'm on, they go into a small parking lot then stop at the edge of it to look around. I pull in after them...of course...and see they have moved on a bit...and have stopped in between the row houses...turning their heads...unsure of which direction to go in. I try to help them in the usual way...with sound...but there's really not much I can do since no matter which way they turn from here...it is a long hazard filled road to any kind of open space or the foothills.
Somehow it saddens me...to see these two...seemingly so young to be on their own...in these present surroundings. Were they pushed along to find their own way... or separated from their mother and families by some unfortunate circumstance...or perhaps lured in by the city's pull...like two teenagers out for a dangerous adventure. Whatever propelled them to this spot...they are lost in the city... with only instinct... and whatever other knowledge was passed on to them in their short lives...to navigate them through all these man-made challenges. But...in my human outlook...I think... at least there are two of them...and they don't have to make this perilous journey...alone.
It is doubtful that I will ever know the fate of these two gentle creatures but I prefer to think that they found the right direction to turn to...and made it back safely...together...to the relative safety of the foothills and the mountains.

America On The Move

I see him again today…sitting on a shoulder of the Peak to Peak…surrounded by plastic bags and suitcases…seemingly all of his material possessions. He looks comfortable though…sitting in a chair…as if he’s on vacation…and thoroughly taking in the beauty of the mountains…while waiting to catch…a ride…to Wyoming…Cheyenne… his placard says. I saw him two days ago for the first time…sitting patiently amidst his treasures holding his sign. Yesterday, when I passed the spot where the traveler had been…his chair still sat among the bags but...he could not be seen. I thought that perhaps he had abandoned his worldly trappings for the sake of a ride…but today he is back in the chair…in the midst of all his belongings…holding the sign. It occurs to me that he must be used to waiting…he does travel with that chair…and all that baggage..........
It is not uncommon to see hitchhikers in these mountains...even in these times of uncertain safety…either going somewhere local or looking to catch a ride to a distant locale. Often the faces are familiar ones ..."locals"... going to or from the flats via their preferred mode of transport...but some of the others...homeless…camp in the mountains for months at a time…sometimes with dogs as companions...hitching the canyon down in the morning…often to panhandle in Boulder… and back up at night…back to their star-studded temporary abodes…moving out only when winter lays its feet of snow on the ground. Many times...the signs they carry are...a blog in itself............ What is unusual about this man is…all that bagged weight he’s trying to get a ride with…at least 12...really huge...black plastic ones stuffed to bursting…as well as…the multiple suitcases and...the chair. This traveler obviously doesn’t care to “travel light”…so whoever gives him a ride will have to be driving a pickup…at least...or a moving van…kind of limiting his options…and giving a new tweak to the phrase “America on the move”... What can he be carrying in all those bags I wonder…where does he haul them off to at night…when another unsuccessful day of waiting has gone by…and he has to seek shelter…presumably among the rocks and trees nearby……how many days will it take him to make the journey…a scant three or so hours by car from where he’s sitting…traveling as he is…with all those bags…waiting at the mercy of a stranger…with…a…large…vehicle…going to Wyoming…or to somewhere along that way…

New Life

(July 17, 2005)

Peace lies serenely
on my heart
while innocence rests gently
on my shoulder
I am holding...grandson
precious new life brought forth
laboriously...only hours ago...
to begin his journey as a man
on this earth...
I look upon seriousness
in his face foreshown to me
before he came...
his birth eyes are grey... as were his father's...
and reveal..he is still far away
his passage to here...not yet completed...
As I clear my self to take in
the beauty and goodness radiating
from his tiny body
it is an old soul I see...
gathering strength and knowledge
for all that is yet to come...in his life
already laid forth before him
at the moment of his arriving...

Sign On A Highway

The trek from Boulder to the Denver airport...one hundred miles roundtrip... is a far away cry from my...usually...peaceful drive from home to the flats. Once in Denver...the east-west four lane highway in and out of Boulder turns into a six or eight laner...causing life to momentarily take on a new perspective as one is surrounded by ...an endless number of potential road ragers... and as one’s...suddenly tiny... vehicle is boxed in...trapped...by unrelenting eighteened wheeled trucks seemingly oblivious of the ant sized others trying to race alongside them....
This Thursday past...while traveling this too familiar road...to pick up the relatives I had recently dropped off...a massive sign penetrates my attention as I approach one of the underpasses... flashing letters warning ominously..."Ozone alert tomorrow....please refuel in evening..." I want to laugh...but thoughts start to do their whirling...at this...weak...attempt to mitigate the damage done...by all these vehicles...including mine...streaming endlessly to wherever...whenever. I am struck hard by this sign...which I’ve never seen before... reinforcing to me that we are indeed in the environmentally challenged...disrupted... future predicted to us. I cannot help but mention it to my relatives...also mountain residents... when they arrive into the airport...a place where fuel is burned like there will be no tomorrow. After cries of incredulousness...and beginnings of laughter...indicating to me their minds are going the same places mine did...we start to verbalize thoughts...about the unstated rationale for refueling away from the sun’s rays...and the...real meaning...the unsaid ramifications...of those words... harbingers of coming calamity.. slipped as subliminally into commuters’ drifting focuses as the "ozone alert level" words which have begun to scroll across the bottom of the tv screen... becoming part of our everyday life. Are they trying to tell us that maybe we shouldn’t be in the outside...prepare us for the time perhaps soon when ...we won’t be able to breathe...go out of doors...enjoy life...without seeing...using...oxygen suppliers on street corners...like we’ve heard about in places not so far away..................whether the sun’s intense heat...and the itching of our skin...accelerated these past couple of years here in Colorado...will worsen............if the old.or infirm and eventually all... will have to stay confined for days on end...in artificially circulated air environments...like some of our relatives closer to the earth’s poles do now................. As our thoughts wander off...into other directions...I know that the next time my...ozone shield eating... ride needs to...unfortunately... be refueled......I may wait till...the evening...just in case...it helps...

A Time Once Upon

As a youth... I heard the "scientific" notion put forth that we humans use only 10% of our brain. 10%! Now that left me wondering....when did this happen...if indeed it is true...and what of the other 90%...what can be accomplished if we tap into... even a small percentage of...the remainder...can we...teach our bodies to fly and soar like our winged relatives...learn to "breathe" in oceans like the water creatures...traverse back and forth through time and distance with our thoughts...heal disease and illness with our touch...read each other’s minds and see into another’s heart with a look...and other endless magical possibilities...which...on reflection...I see...the ancestors did leave us stories about...a time once upon...this Earth.................................

Red Tail

Yesterday morning, on my drive from home to the flats.. just outside of Nederland...crazy mountain town camouflaging as a sleepy hideaway...my car is sandwiched between the overly-full reservoir and the rocks, when something catches my eye...Red Tail...has swooped low, crosses right in front of me and dips his wings close to my open window...as if he wants to talk. This, I know, is the unmistakable call to find the nearest spot to stop and see what hawk has to say. Finding a suitable area a few feet ahead, I get out and begin to whistle...another kind of whistle...not to warn of danger but to acknowledge him...show respect...send thoughts. Red Tail flies over me, goes a little past me and starts circling. As the whistling continues he comes directly over my head and resumes circling...occasionally dipping his massive wings to maneuver higher or lower...then moves off a few feet to the north. When he hits the sun at a certain angle, I can see right through the redness of his tail. I stop whistling momentarily and switch to words...verbalizing the thoughts...and he stops circling and looks like he's ready to head out. So...I silence my words and start whistling...to say goodbye and thanks...and suddenly...he stops his departure flight and begins circling overhead again...as if not to depart in the middle of a conversation... Amazed, I realize what has happened...that he'll stop and listen if I have more to say...in language he can understand...but just to make sure...I switch to words once more. Red Tail stops circling and speeds off...lesson given...fast and straight to his own destination. Seconds later...he's only a memory.
Red Tail stopped to show me...another part to the art of communicating...the importance of listening and watching for cues...and of having something to say...if you're going to take someone's time...but most importantly...of finding a way to communicate in language the one you're trying to say it to...can understand...

Beading Unveiled

I still remember vividly the first time I learned how to bead. The year was 1969 and I was staying on the Pine Ridge reservation with my sister for the summer. A newly found friend…my age at the time…was kind enough to teach me the logistics of loomwork. The memory is one of excitement at seeing the beads, the colours, the texture…the magic of being able to create a design, as simple as it was for a first attempt, and work to bring it alive. I created several items that summer…
Years later, while living in Berkeley, another Lakota woman, a friend of my sister’s, came to visit…bringing us the gift of the peyote stitch…which she showed us while speaking stories of unexplainable mysteries on the Pine Ridge…of shape shifters and long passed spirits remaining in spots like Wounded Knee to help those still struggling on that scarred, blessed land…
Over the years, I was what could be described as a “casual” beader…sometimes making various items for friends and family…until 11 years ago…when the opportunity came up to work on my beadwork “fulltime” and unleash an unlimited creativity…It was during this time that I actually became a beader. As was true with other areas explored, the more I beaded...the more it became a part of me…and I began to understand what I would call the “heart” of beading…how to observe things all around me and work them into unique and original creations…each one different. The white of the snow on the green of trees or an eagle hovering still and silent above…wings outstretched, for example, became a pattern for a loomwork bracelet or choker…a dragonfly observed became memorialized on a pouch or bag... It was during this time of unbridled expressiveness that I learned to understand and use colours…how to use the thread colours to enhance the bead colours……how to “mix” bead colours by their placement relative to each other…starkly contrasting or in ways so subtle that the variations are barely noticeable until examined closely. I have tended to stay away from many of the “standard” colour combinations seen on a lot of beadwork…perhaps inevitably due to my Caribbean beginnings and the vibrancy and diversity of colours I was constantly surrounded by as a child. I have also learned how to use the texture of a bead…matte or shining…clear or solid…to give a dimensional look to a “flat”piece…in the case of loomwork or hide-beading…or to the circular rotation of patterns in a peyote stitch piece.
Over the years I’ve created many…hundreds…of pieces…bracelets, chokers, necklaces, earrings, moccasins, pouches, belts, hair pieces and more…some sold…some given…each piece a new challenge…another expression of something stirring inside…to create unique and original patterns…never copying others…how to work…experiment…with the different materials…deer or caribou hide…fur…feathers… hairpipe… shells… finding the right tension for the threaded loom…the whole process of creation…starting with a mental design or pattern, sometimes translated to a drawing first…or directly onto the squares of graph paper...the challenge being to create roundness from squareness…and now...finally being able to "freelance" the loom......... Sometimes I think about all of my creations out there…and the people who “own” the pieces…who felt some kind of a connection to their chosen piece…the way they would hold the bracelet or the earrings…stroke the beads…the almost iconic verbal expressions which would often accompany their handling of the items….and observing…unbelievably…how often people who bought or received one of these items would seldom take them off…almost as if the beadwork somehow enhanced or calmed their life...children seeming particularly captivated by the colours…the designs................. Over the years, the most challenging to create have been the “commissioned” items. Since I’ve always maintained “artistic control" over the actual design and colours used…there’s always the possibility that the requestor…who places a special trust in me when revealing their “vision” of what they want…will be disappointed or that it won’t be exactly what they’ve envisioned. Luckily…that’s never been the case so far…or at least not that anyone has let on...maybe because I put as much, if not more, into the creation of these “directed” pieces...ideas lent to me to breathe life into...
Beading is also an incredible teacher of patience. There are really no shortcuts…no way to get around having to create the pattern bead by bead…colour by colour…and, of course, there’s the process of having to reverse and undo the inevitable mistake…bead by bead…the tanglings of the thread…the breaking of the needle…or the odd bead that’s just a little smaller than all the others…which naturally you don’t find out about until you’re trying to get the needle through a second time…and it won’t let you proceed…complications which…can offer general lessons about life…if one is open... It is for this reason too that my children and many of the young people…often troubled…who passed through our door were taught to bead….to create a design...work through frustrations encountered...and bring it to fruit......some still carrying on the art…integrated into their beings…an outlet for examining and working out solutions to problems….and if nothing else, just to create something of their own…pleasing to the eye…and the heart…
Now…though I no longer am blessed to be able to work on creations "fulltime"…beading still remains a constant and vital part of life for me…something beautiful and solid to hang on to no matter where life is turning me…

Two Tacos

Sitting at the Taco Bell order box reading off my hungry son's order when...I hear a voice soft and cautious "Hey...can you buy me 2 tacos?" Look to the voice's direction and see a young Native man...about my son's age...serious face...alcohol mask...yet...eyes deep and clear. "Hold on" I say in the middle of my order..." All right" comes the response "I'll wait over there"... and he's gone.
As I ponder this encounter...unsure of what I'll do... my order comes and I pay...get ready to turn the corner...and there he is...in the background...polite and expectant...waiting for this stranger's goodness...so..."Here man" I say handing him some cash...for two tacos..."Take it easy o.k.?" Hand reaches out...deep clear eyes search mine...as mine dig into his looking for the spark I saw behind the alcohol glaze...spark of generations...spark of relatives...spark of medicine buried... just beneath the haze. What I really want to say is "Do your life a favor...lose the alcohol" but what I see in those eyes stop me...tell me he saw in mine what I saw in his...no further words are necessary................. Nodding he walks away...opens the door to end his quest and his hunger... leaving me to reflect long and hard on a stranger in need of two tacos reminding me...to be human...to a brother... momentarily lost...

Carousel

Selfishly...I ask for more...
but...the aspen's shivering leaves
are mimicking...whispering of...
what others have seen
this day...........once again
lives damaged......lives taken
.........tossed round and round
like baggage.........
...............in some aggressor's carousel......

Love Poem

If I could transcend
space and distance
I would
run to stand with you...
take your tired hand
in mine...
let strength flow
between us...
and erase sorrows
still unspoken...

If I could shape shift
into an eagle
I would
fly swift and straight
to your side...
wrap my wings
around you
gently...
and lift your spirit
sagging low...

If I could send a sound
to turn you to me
I would
whisper visions
clearly seen...
throw a spark
to light your heart...
and share a path
to love
unending...

Mother's Crossing

Three cycles have completed since
this memory begins...
on that fourth day of July
in the year 2002 After Death
the one who brought me to life...
gentle mother...patient teacher...lies waiting
her body weary with pain's heaviness
her spirit preparing for the journey which has begun

As fireworks explode and radiate their stars downwards
celebrating...her last hours of sweet life on Earth...
my mother's star is reaching...radiating upwards
in readiness for the journey...back...to the ancestors
the dark of night tick tocks towards the light of day
as my mother's spirit moves in and out of this reality...
and returns each time.... closer...to the great mystery...

I watch in sadness unspeakable
the crossing which brings her nearer...the other side
the brave ongoing struggle reflected in
her face...her eyes...her mouth...
tender givers of comfort...mirrors of undying love

As I hold my mother's hand tightly
I fear the time coming for us both...the approaching passing hour
which will bring the unstoppable change...
no longer will I look
upon her beautiful face...radiant as the sun
hear her lilting voice...calm and hopeful
feel the strength of life pulsing in her veins

Then...within the night's deafening silence
I hear songs...the morning songs of dawn's birds...
my passed sister's beloved companions...
sent to tell our mother 'let go'...
they have come to help her...
turn back towards earth no more
"Do you hear the birds songs" I whisper
not sure if she hears...or if she is here...still

My beloved mother looks upon me
with those eyes brought back from afar
by the calling sound of my voice...
from within the growing distance
she shakes her head to say "no..."
for she is too far along on her journey...
"well...they are singing " I tell her...gently....
"singing just for you..."

When the dark has turned to light
my mother's body is still...weary...
but her spirit is almost crossed...
no longer concerned with those left
to begin their mourning songs
soon...her body too lightens...
marking the crossing completed

Peace on earth has come at last
as my mother's spirit...freed...
continues her journey on the other side...
walking on the road of our ancestors
back to her Creator...
leaving her loved ones lost
to chant our mourning songs long...
as we begin our earthwalk without her
on this 5th day of July...

Signs Given

Today was one of those too infrequent days when all the hours are mine...to do as I wish...without work obligations or pressing family or other matters. Days like this...when I am home...alone with my solitude...are especially nice during these warm seasons when the mountains are awakened...
On days such as this, it is good to take the unpaved roads and look...really look...to see what is going on all around. This day, on the way to "town"...10 mountain miles away...I observe that this season’s delicate mountain flowers are in full bloom...always arriving a little later than their cousins in "the flats". Columbine, indian paintbrush, bluebells, brown-eyed susans, wild iris...just a few of the many gracing the green mountainside with colour. Then too there are the medicinal plants...just as beautiful...given to us to heal our bodies and spirits...sage, valerian, red clover, mullein, cranesbill and wild rose, whose budding hips will come to fruition...in the fall... filled with vitamin C...
On the way back from town, I stop at the lake to send greetings to the eagles nesting at its bank. I can see a white head bobbing up and down in the home...so...maybe the eaglets are being fed...or caressed...at this very moment. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see a large, partially camouflaged bird...not an eagle...sitting in a tree...observing the fish cavorting in and out of the placid water...ducks are floating lazily...all seem unconcerned with the few humans blending into the tranquil scene.
Once back home, the urge to remain outside is strong...so I take a walk on the surrounding land...bringing food offerings for the creatures who co-inhabit. As I walk, I look for animal sign...tracks, droppings, tree rubbings, broken young trees or branches. In a few spots, the earth has been disturbed with steps... deep wide strides...consistent with the elk’s walk. Droppings...fresh...confirm that this creature has been here...recently. Continuing on, I can hear many varieties of bird song and the caw caw of the crows letting their relatives know offerings have been left...Circling back upon the house...there is...still...an inner longing to stay out of doors and continue this day of observance. I have learned to follow these inner directions...open my senses...and wait...for that which is coming. While waiting, the urge comes to try a little "landscaping" in the "yard" area, which eventually reclaims all human attempts to rearrange its natural space. Nonetheless, I relocate some young wild rose plants to one side of the fence.
Finally...I sit down and stop...to watch the passing day reflect in the sky...and look and listen. Soon I hear it...a large body...snapping twigs and branches in its movement...in the old forest...that part of the land where the pine, spruce and aspen reach taller and wider to the sky...the space where I had for some reason left the offerings..... The sounds come closer...and I slow and quiet my breath. Suddenly, to the left...my eyes incredulous...see an elk buck...slowly making his way up the hill...alone...on a solitary journey...stopping every few steps to look and listen. He is barely 20 feet away... beautiful...tan and brown skin glistening...velvet, looking soft as clouds, on his young antlers...gentle face and eyes. Outside, I am still but...inside...from the center...wonder and excitement are bursting outwards to this passing traveler...who sent signs all day...and comes so close..........the reward for patience. I quiet my inner voice, which wants desperately to communicate..and let him pass, undisturbed...unaware that I sit so near. I watch him continue...stop periodically to eat a plant or look around him. Soon he is at the top of the next hill but...heading towards the "road" and the other houses. I can see him stop...head turning...not sure of which way to go. Suddenly I know...here is the wanted chance to communicate and to hopefully assist him...return the gift given...send him a sound to help him turn towards the other direction...back to the woods...away from the road and the houses.
Many many years ago, I had learned a type of whistling from the father of my children...with whom...I had walked life...a whistle to help our nonhuman relatives find their direction when momentarily lost. Although I have seen this sound unfailingly help animals reorient, each such moment is still a wonder to observe. I start whistling...and continue while the young buck turns...and starts walking back...back the other way...away from the road and the houses...into the deeper woods. A couple of minutes later, he is gone...giving me much to think about...leaving me thankful once more...for this wondrous day of peace...in these mountains.

Wild Child

A few years ago, my eldest son "rescued" a tiny baby raccoon who had fallen out of a city tree and had been abandoned by its mother. Since he was living in the city himself...of course...he immediately brought it to my home in the mountains...an area scarce of raccoons...expecting me and his sister to know how to take care of this baby from the "wild". I figured it couldn't be too hard...just treat it like any other infant...Well, our "baby" thrived on the milk, and later lettuce and other delicacies it ate. No doubt the attention and affection helped too... Enjoying the run of the place, he would regal whoever was in the house with his varied sounds and songs - an amazing range of tones and expressions in his voice...no one who saw him could resist that cute face...those amazing eyes...that affectionate manner... By the end of the summer "our" raccoon became...quite large. By this time, he had begun to explore the outdoors, but was also interacting fully with us humans...trying to sit on our laps...holding out his "fingers" to grab ours...conversing in raccoon language...racing us to the front door...it was quite unbelievable. At about this point, it became obvious that it was time to move raccoon outside...to get him accustomed to his real identity...that he was a raccoon...and not a human...member of the family. We began in earnest the process of separation by letting him outside for longer and longer periods of time...and by feeding him less and less. Our little friend adapted quite quickly and well to the reawakening of his natural skills... In the meantime, he continued his "human" interactions as well...he would do things like come out of the woods to the house when he heard the "call" which my "rescuer" son had somehow figured out he'd respond to...he'd run up to greet me when he heard the car pull up, then with both "hands" would grab on to any bag I happened to be carrying and hang on while I carried the bag...and him - clutching on as if for his life - down to the house. It was like having the best of both worlds...a raccoon who was familiar with our human ways and seemed happy to live in our world, yet was self-sufficient and could also fend for himself in his.
One day, he didn't respond to his call...so my daughter and I knew...he had gone...most likely with another of his kind...a companion...and no doubt answering the beckoning of his other relatives who were out there somewhere. Suddenly, life was different...something was missing... For the next two or three summers, we would get a short excited visit ...we'd hear the familiar steps running on the porch...and that voice...of so many ranges...would call us out of the house. Sometimes he'd be traveling with another of his kind. Then...nothing...until last summer. Arriving home one day, I noticed deep claw marks on the front door...something had climbed up the door and peeked inside...I knew it couldn't be a bear...the marks were too small...and a bear would have surely succeeded in smashing the window out or even in breaking down the door... Hummm...I thought...could it be..............
The next day, I pointed out the claw marks to a friend who'd been to the house in my absence the day before. She told me that there was a raccoon on the porch when she arrived...but that it had wandered off into the woods when she came closer. Darn...I had missed a visit...a long awaited visit...from our "now emancipated child" who had given us a lot of laughs...tender moments...and an incredible and unique view into who these creatures are...and their extreme skillfulness in communicating, adapting, giving affection...and remembering... Sharing our home with this visitor had also shown me the human ability to coexist with creatures "from the wild." Yes...he had tested our patience on occasion...but only because his "raccoonness" grated on our "humanness"... and judging from the seemingly frustrated tone which could sometimes be heard in his voice, I'm sure we tested his also... Hopefully, he was given something treasured in return... I like to believe so...and that maybe, just maybe, one day this summer...I'll hear those familiar footsteps running onto the porch...hear that familiar voice calling me out...for a short...excited...visit...

Mourning Shawl

Restless sleep finds me...again
as from deep within
old memories stir..uneasy...
disturbed from their forgotteness...
surfacing once more to haunt me
taunting testing my strength and resolution..
how many Springs have passed since
the whirlwind came
churning turning spinning
change...merciless change...
into this unsuspecting life turned
to the seven directions to search
for why hearts unjoined...
to recover
the one who was within
at the beginning of that lifetime..
but...this night...in this time of life...
sacred music strums and strokes my memories
while healing voice low and soothing
coaxes...reminding me
the time is here...
hang up this mourning shawl
already slipped from my shoulders
when the dawn arrives softly
gently into the day...