Why would two feather boas
having their own parade in soft winter light
matter to the day?
11° Fahrenheit this morning
signals the ice will not melt
despite blue skies and sunshine
Inside dogs are sprawled on the furniture
morning ruckus over
sunlight turns glossy aglaonema leaves
translucent as stained glass
Guitar music from the practice room
fills the house
wild geese beat wings in formation
past leafless cottonwoods
Despite these peaceful indulgences intransigent problems
assert themselves at peripheries
but time has shown
even they will be consumed by inexorable change
The oak does not show buds
with so much winter to go
it waits in stasis
last spring’s growth turned hard
its sap will awaken
deep in the ground its roots interact
with mychorrhizae
this relationship has persisted 400 million years
Imbolc Ostera Beltane
ancestral celebrations of winter dissolving
some future people will have other names
for the times that are yet to come
when humans’ history persists
alongside the roots of trees
no longer ours
What will we become
will there be a we
wherein we can hear our dogs’ thoughts
in words
understand what the winds say
when we release the wild rivers
build habitats of perpetual spring
for those in need of them
celebrate winter shouting songs as we glide around mounds of snow
Will we be those people?
