Upper Wind River
by Erin Robertson
(after hearing Joanna Macy)
it doesn’t take long
to leave behind the exhaust and thrum
the too muchness
too many too busy too crowded
and be suddenly transported
by two strong legs
to the backcountry
and wham
there you are
in silence
no, not silence -
the singing of the Wind River
the chittering of the chickadees and chickarees
littering their pine bough leavings every which way
the crash of a buck’s antlers
tangled in golden willow branches
the raven’s rasping talk startling the stillness
the slow soft sound you can’t hear, only see,
of a million aspen leaves letting go, one after another
it doesn’t take long
we don’t go far
only a mile or two
but suddenly the world is ours
all this sky these crags this forest
this stream that sings even in winter deep under ice
they all open to us
we open to them
we walk jauntily
filled up to bursting
with freedom and space
from Deep Wild Journal, Vol. 3, 2021
