circles

      On these northern plains, dawn arrives late on winter mornings. Brilliant sun struggles to warm up the overnight air that sits at 10°. The neighbor’s car protests the turn of the key. I draw closer to the fire, cradling my first cup of coffee. After a quick run outside, a bowl of food, Sophie snoozes and soon will snore, dreaming of green meadows and flocks of sheep. At noon I meet with a handful of others, crafting a new venture that will enhance our arts community. Later, I will pay my respects to a friend recently passed, a warrior on many fronts, now at rest.
     Life and death walk hand in hand. We know the dangers, we adapt; we know the joys, we celebrate. Buffalo on the ridge just outside of town turn broadside to the sun, warming their shaggy coats, their ancient bones. In northwest Washington, my second home, on the Nooksack River, thousands of salmon fight the current, return home to spawn and die.  Hundreds of eagles feast and celebrate. Life cycles, ancient rituals, immediate urgency, orchestrated by suns and moons and seasons, repeated since the beginning of time. Our place in the cycle, our sacred trust in this moment: to awaken, to notice, to seize, to join the dance, to give our all, until our final breath.   
 
pounding of drums
low chanting voices rise in pitch and intensity
as fire in the sky grows brighter
earth shakes with pounding of feet in the circle
pounding of hooves across the plain
massive shaggy bodies running, running
reverberations widen westward to the sea
rising tides, rising rivers, pounding on stones
lungs bursting, hearts expanding, salmon
giving their lives
eagles scream, their wings breaking
placid gray clouds, blue green mist
rising, falling, with the river, the salmon
 
circles of friends, circles of enemies,
circles of dependence
circles of creation
repeating, repeating
 
©4january2016