Black Snakes
by: Martin Achatz
Suddenly
there I was
on the warm rocks--fear
like a mallet
slung against
metal--it was
that sudden,
that loud,
though in truth
there was no sound, only
the rough wing of fright
rushing
through our bodies.
One flowed
under the leaves, the other flared
half its length
into the air
against my body, then swirled
away. Once I had steadied,
I thought: how valiant!
and I wished
I had come softly, I wished
they were my dark friends.
For a moment I stared
through the impossible gates.
Then I saw them, under the vines,
coiled, cringing,
wishing me gone
with their stone eyes.
Not knowing what I would do
next, their tongues
shook like fire
at the echoes of my body--
that column of death
plunging
through the delicate woods.
For the most part, Oliver doesn't seem to fear anything in nature, from lightning to mice. She admires and respects the untamed, knows that, in the grand scheme of the universe, humans are the most dangerous animals, each person a "column of death" in the fragile wildernesses of the world.
I spent most of today off the grid. No cell service. No way for anyone to send me a text or call me with a question. Total disconnection. Lisa, a wonderful poet friend, invited me to her camp in the middle of the woods, right on the shores of an inland lake. We ate pizza and chocolate cupcakes, discussed poetry and cardinals. Hiked all over her property, visiting her writing cabin and other outbuildings. We ended our time together sitting on lichen-shrouded rocks, golden leaves snowing down around us, admiring the sunlight dancing on the lake.
Now, I also love and respect nature. However, I'm not an expert in identifying plants or birds or mushrooms. If I had ever been a contestant on the TV show Naked and Afraid, I wouldn't have lasted more than a few hours. I probably would have sat on a yellowjacket nest and died of anaphylaxis, my ass and scrotum swollen to the size of a black bear cub.
Lisa, on the other hand, is completely in her element in the woods. Instead of killing a hornet that's trapped in her camp, she opens the screen door and escorts the hornet outside, saying, "Come on, little guy." Think Francis of Assisi with long dark hair and a love of chocolate. Once, when Lisa was giving an outdoor poetry reading a year or so ago, I watched a gaggle of geese slowly approach, listening attentively, as if her voice was some kind of siren song for them.
Today, we didn't see any snakes, black, brown, sienna, or plaid. Didn't run into a moose or wolf or skunk. If we had, I'm sure Lisa would have simply remarked, "Hey, sister skunk/wolf/moose, we're just passing through," and walked by, without being sprayed, eaten, or stomped to death. As Lisa said to me during our hike, "I'm in their home."
I need these kinds of total breaks more often. It seems like most of my life is about teaching, answering texts and emails, hosting large gatherings of human beings. In short, being very connected all day and night. I never turn off my phone, and, more often than not, receive messages in the middle of the night. My "me" time during a normal day consists of trips to the bathroom. (I used to joke with another friend that the nearest toilet was my breakroom.)
My time with Lisa today reminded me of the importance of selfcare. The world didn't end because I didn't have cell service. Nobody died because I was unavailable. And I didn't get bitten by a poisonous black snake.
Instead, I talked with Lisa about Mary Oliver and Wendell Berry and blue jays and beavers and loons. Walked through a carpet of golden maple leaves. Recharged my batteries. And it was all grace.
Saint Marty is thankful for his friendship with Saint Lisa.
❤️
ReplyDelete