We’ve seen them too,
Those lines in the rocks, glacial grooves cut
broken here and there by chattered debris.
In snow and willow we watch
you kneel, then squat on the wind scoured ridge,
studying the bedrock between gilded drifts
with tracing fingers
free of mittens, following a glacier’s path.
Are you imagining the ice that loomed above
That was long ago.
But perhaps you can picture it, that rock studded ocean,
slowly buckling and deforming,
carving this channeled signature
in its wake.
We all press into this world.
Just last night we hunted hare,
tracking the north meadow with our stories.
You will find them soon, and wonder at our numbers
and at the demise of hares.
This season: is a good time for lynx.
We study the snowshoe hare
like you scour these glacial tracks.
Tell us: when will you consider
You leave them everywhere.
Over and over you run the same pathways,
Here to there.
Here to there.
You no longer react at each firing
but reactivity rules your hunt.
are these channels
are these trails
of patterned thoughts.
Resistance cannot grow.
Any hare or lynx can tell you that.
We thrive when they thrive, and
we suffer when they suffer.
As two equal, opposite
we succeed or fail
Don’t misunderstand us.
This trust promises no ease,
only change. And
only change can grow.
Rise from these striations, fellow predator.
Make fresh tracks
in your own vast meadow.
You’ve been frozen in place for so long.
Even the glacier moves at the firn line,
in accumulation, and ablation.
Ice knows transmutation in both
growth and death.
You too have a season.
Move with force through this world.
Mind your tracks,
and love what you hunt.
This is how to trust.
This is your signature.