I wish I’d had a conversation with you, Wren.
You hopped as close to me as any wren has.
Foolishly, I tried to photograph you.
Though you came almost to my toe, I missed
speaking with you other than to say, hello.
And I did not capture your portrait.
You might have had a lesson,
a warning, a piece of advice
for another being, alone of her kind,
along the shrubby edge, among the trees
at the top of the mountain.
Perhaps you knew, as I suspected,
the rain would soon begin,
with a cold downpour,
some drops falling
in crystalline form.
Perhaps you would have told me
to set aside the camera,
in the quiet morning,
when wisps of clouds
graced our bodies.
Told me to listen to what Earth
and her Spirits have to say today.
Attune to the songs of sky, ocean,
mountains, trees, forests.
Focus on the patterns
of cedar’s greenery,
the swirls of her bark.
Experience the energies
that pass right through,
light changed to sound,
to invisible waves
which penetrate, traverse,
alter and transform.
Instead, I hold the memory of your
round brown body,
your bright eye,
your scavenging,
your searching,
your approach,
your be-ing
and the conversation
we might have had.
The Zetta Angus Papers 