On many nights I can feel the land calling me,
needing me as much as I need it.
It speaks to me of hiding spots,
cavities in the trunks of trees, burrows underground,
the speckles on the cardinal eggs, the hazy brown of the deer.
The first time I made fire I cried,
loud and strong,
smoke hanging in the air around me,
bow drill at my feet.
These are gifts the land gives us,
holds out in outstretched hands with shy smile.
She is also afraid,
to forge new ties with ones who are reckless and fast,
who walk with clumsy steps on soft surfaces, who cannot see even with open eyes,
we, the wild-blind.
Her voice sounds like ocean waves and dry slither of snake,
the first caw of the crow at dawn, and the hallowed howling of wolf.
I want to know how the mountains move,
and where Raccoon goes at night.
I am a child for her,
her touch is soft, like Revel’s hand brushed against my chest.
She is wild,
glowing animal eyes in the night.
Let us heed her call.
She is unfamiliar, but do not be afraid,
her love for us is great.
Thank you for listening,