There is a place over one hill,
behind the next
where I can almost escape the sound of men.
The mine, the factory, the highway is nearly blocked by the earth.
I want to be where the wild things are.
Where rabbit, raccoon, and bobcat tracks lie fresh in the snow.
Where my eyes see only the natural world of stone, plant, and sky.
I want to sit, silent on the rock as the sun hits it and melts the ice,
where the pinyin trees twist like tangled hair,
where my breath comes cold and deep.
I want to live with the rhythms of the earth,
with an ease and a grace in my body
I do not have to fight to find.
And I am sorry
for I startle the deer,
magpie alarms from the tree to share the news of my coming,
and the hawk takes wing.
I wish we could be in harmony.
There is sadness in my heart for my children
and our other people
in this always changing world
who may never know the quiet of a snowy morning
in a softly sleeping wood.
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