Sitting out on the hillside at sunset, watching the valley change colors in the transiting light, I read poetry aloud to the gathered squirrels and jays.
No chipmunks tonight. They prefer novels.
For these evening readings, I put out peanuts. On these occasions, I am the food person, bearing feed, seed, peanuts and poems.
(I suspect the squirrels come for the peanuts, only feigning interest in poetry.)
Tonight we're reading W.S. Merwin, a favorite poet of mine,
here on a hillside not far from Lake Merwin.
No relation that I know of, but still it's kind of cool.
I prefer his later poems,
about life captured in singular moments,
about living in sync with nature,
about that point where the natural and the spiritual intersect.
My critter neighbors know instinctually, maybe intuitively,
what I am forever trying to understand intellectually.
For them there is nothing to understand. Life just is,
and they are forever present to it
--like the best poets in their best moments.
[First posted: June 22, 2015]
