A Normal Place

Smokey air shrouds my mountains splendor.

Grays and Torreys peaks veiled, but hikers persevere.

Covid lurks behind hikers’ masks.

Will there be a plan? A vaccine? A million deaths?

I want to flee, to bolt, to travel back in time, or forward?

Join me in my normal place.

Come hike in my forest when the smoke lifts

Revealing a bluebird sky.

Smudges of yellow tell me it is fall,

While snow whispers winter on the summits.

Aspens lose their leafy green chlorophyl

Unmasking yellow carotenoids below.

I breathe in nature’s routine, all normal.

Summer’s flowers transform to bright berries.

Birds flush into flight, beaks dripping with juice

As I startle them beside the trail.

Green Kinnikinnick swathing the shady forest floor

Has red berries, a treat for bears and birds.

Takes me back to childhood memories

When my friend and I ate the mealy mild berries

On our walks in the autumn woods.

Natives held this plant sacred

As they prayed to the Great Spirit.

Thank you, Great Spirit, for Kinnikinnick that

Continues its life cycle, century after century.

In a shady stretch of trail, light dapples the forest floor

Splashing a sunlit pattern

Where squirrels are caching pinecones for winter.

How do they remember where to find them under four feet of snow?

Year after year, generations of squirrels do this.

A fall aster is hardy, blooming despite the chilly days and frosty nights.

I take in its strength, its normal, despite the challenge of icy night air.

It is a survivor. I inhale its power.

A magpie calls, “wock, wock, wock,” over and over, loud and harsh

Interrupting the stillness of the forest.

On the branch of a dead tree I spy its glossy black and white feathers.

It’s normal for the magpie to complain when I disturb its peace

By walking along my trail.

Ducks paddle away from the edge of the lake and group together

In case I am a predator--

One stretches her neck to get a better look at me,

Then watches while the others,

With tails up, dip for food.

Perhaps she is the scout.

All this behavior is instinctive.

The residence of a mystery critter.

No tracks left, no fur or hair.

Who prefers an underground home?

Normal for a fox, marmot, pocket gopher,

A rabbit, or ground squirrel.

I am brimming with curiosity. I will come back

And look for tracks tomorrow.

All is normal in the forest, by the lake, and in the meadow.

I am normal in these wild places.

I lay down on the soft mat of kinnikinnick

And hear the rustle of tree branches in the breeze.

I breathe in the scent of evergreens,

And feel cool Earth on my back,

Where everything is normal.