Retracing Old Lines
I
It was winter in Helena, Montana
when I found out
I lit a candle
so your spirit could find its way
I went on cross country skis
through a snowy forest to trail’s end
and out a windswept ridge
I built a twiggy fire and sat on my pack
and watched wispy smoke
figures form, and scatter with the wind
At moon rise
I poured the last of my minty green tea
on the embers, and with a gentle kick
was off with the wind
II
In spring when willow catkins burst
and grouse eat alder buds
I had an intuition
Go to the place where it was
The Blue Mountains, in Oregon
III
It was July, and the sun was resting
on a far canyon rim
I hiked from my camp on a high ridge
to the crest where the forest ends
and the mule’s ear begins
There, an ancient tree had fallen
from the forest edge
It was sun-bleached and barkless
just wide enough
I climbed up
I called to the quarters as they were
North, the forest above me
East, a rustling of leaves
South, the canyon below
West, a string of clouds
I gave thanks to the spirit
of ridge and rim
I didn’t know what more to say
other than, this is a simple ceremony
for the spirit, now, of a lover past
IV
In was night and the moon was full
Great horned owls were calling
Coyotes were howling
A cricket was trilling
I listened to the wildness of the night
I thought, how a ceremony
at this stage, is for the living, because
your spirit has long since traveled its way
V
The road home
meanders out a long plateau between two rivers
At first, it's in spruce-fir
then ponderosa pine
and then, it switchbacks down a grassy slope
to where the rivers meet
I stop for a swim
It feels great
I stand on the river's edge, dripping wet
My heels in sand
my toes in the shallow water
I think about, how
would I explain this journey
to another person?
I added new ink
to some old, faded lines
I added to memories held in the curl
of these ancient, dusty, blue mountains
Perhaps, I added new life to parts of myself
The heat is sweltering
There's just enough breeze running
in the canyon to flutter cottonwood leaves
I put my flip flops on
and I'm off, with the wind
Backyard Deer
You are back
to eat fallen birdseed
in the snow
You and two other deer
bed into your
half circles of hair-matted snow
I hold my breath
careful not to make a sound
as I watch through a window
With a sigh, your eyes close
and your ears relax, hooves
tucked in
I step aside, quietly
the sun sets
on this winter solstice night
Resting Place
Flesh decayed
Smaller bones were scattered
The skull lay half buried in pine needles
in the place where the animal died
A heavy snow fell
and the ground was covered for the winter
The sun came back, and the snow melted
The springy snowberry shrubs put on new leaves
Spots of sun danced across the braincase
twigs snapped, a red squirrel barked
Someone picked up the skull, brushed off the soil
and tucked it into a sheltered place, beneath a log
Leaves withered, the snow came back
A family of shrews built a nest of snowberry leaves
on the sheltered side of the skull
The snow melted
clouds heavy with rain pushed against the forest
winds blew with no forgiveness
Trees swayed, and one came down, swollen with rain
log upon log, driving the skull deep into the soil
Perhaps this is where it ends?
But a root from a snowberry found it
and tapped the damp soil within
Sometimes a voice calls its name
“Where is that skull?”
All of their secrets, it has heard
It’s harder to tell now, who’s who
the soil, or the skull
The first flakes of winter's snow
swirl in the space between trees
over the fallen logs and snowberry bushes
*****
Theodore A. Snyder III writes from Helena, MT. He has worked as a wildlife biologist across the Mountain West and Great Plains. He has published research notes in Ecological Restoration, North American Bird Bander, and Journal of Caribbean Ornithology.