Savage Peace A Mountain Lion as My Guide
Many a’ time past I’ve seen this present before as savage, a catamount of me hunting.
Once at war with Creek and Cherokee, the British and then against one another.
Always where the moon touched closest to the Suanne, Dog and Yellow River,
These lands around where I was born and grew to live most of my life wandering
Stone Mountain, searching every line in granite to see the footprints of history.
Later it was anyplace where I heard the Oconee and Broad, their many branches,
Home it was when water was near, wild in the Straits of Mackinac on The Island.
When I could hear and smell, see the California Pacific my American soul was born,
Everything was big, the waves, the tales, the trees and then the strangest, Yeah.
Funniest creature alive I saw while walking alone in the Mendocino ocean side forests.
Electric celestial yellow snail by my left boot there beside the ferns waiting to greet me,
Welcome to the hills and cliffs, Garcia, Gualala and Elk River, unbelievable waves,
Grey whales sailing upon the dark deep waters slowly breaching and hypnotic,
Dig my soles down to hold onto this quivering land and I looked eye to eyes
With another ancient inhabitant to this “here”, a potato bug turning his head
As if spring loaded and crackled sounds so sharp I swore it was speaking,
And so here I knew more than life more than dreams more was waiting to be
To rise and define what is me; this North Sonoma, Southern Mendocino
was not ready for this Southern, wild, drunken, woman crazed, culinary flash,
Fog walking sands of Manchester, coasting acro the grasses of Haven’s Neck,
Finally knowing home is wherever, and I’m just digging life more smile than frown.