Weekly poetry from Chris Heeter, The Wild Institute
April 25, 2007
A Wild Thought from a season past (4/12/06), out for another
spin in the daylight...
Who could sleep with all this ruckus?
It is barely light as the chorus begins:
the croaking, the peeping, the chirping,
the quacking, the honking.
My winter ears hear it all,
accustomed to the season of silent slumber
through winter's long, dark night.
Interrupted only by owl's soft call,
or sled dogs answering train whistles.
But winter has bid farewell,
awakening the wild ones
and two-leggeds alike.
We are not spared in our dens of wood or brick.
Spring calls to us as surely as buds on the trees.
Calling us out of our slumber
and into the lively energy of spring.
Resistance is futile.
--Chris
April 11, 2007
Snow falls
as the loon flies overhead,
her song a distinctive and eerie cry.
She’ll bide her time here,
waiting until something inside tells her
it’s time to move on:
to fly north to lakes turned liquid again
in spring’s sweet embrace.
On this blustery day
it seems we, too, await a similar voice,
an inner knowing of when to move,
and when to trust our flight to deep open waters.
--Chris
April 3, 2007
Noses pressed to the glass,
the cat and I fog the window.
It’s been raining for a week,
soaking the earth with much needed moisture
as the cat and I pace,
alternately going outside regardless,
and returning wet, muddy, and cold.
The sled dogs are barely distinguishable
from one another,
each having taken on a mud brown hue.
This is not a time for rhymes
about April showers and May flowers.
This is about the messy side
of new life, new beginnings,
and the turbulence of spring.
Mud season is part of the package here,
as we await the dawn of green.
--Chris
Chris Heeter
The Wild Institute
763-479-3954
www.thewildinstitute.com
