A collaborative list from my fellow students of Rewild Portland’s Rewilding 101 class.
Feed the Tree
He takes the long road back. Both dippers wink at us through chilled mountain air. We’re out of gas and money and weed and we both smell rotten. Soft boots and chaffless pants, we sneak in quiet, falling hard onto an old mattress. When he sleeps, all I see is a baby crying for milk. I shove my boob in his mouth, goodnight.
Hills
Not mountains with boulders and peaks and crags, but a hump of earth higher than most. Some hills have been pulled apart by wind and moved into sturdy mounds. Others sprout from underground. Hills are for ambling up in hooves, or snowshoes, or bare feet. For sitting atop without bum abrasions. For castle dwellers who want to avoid floods. For deer or elk or buffalo to stand atop, to graze and gaze from, to gauge the horizon for enemies. The hill could be a mountain’s grandfather or a grandfather’s hill. Over time, hills soften, growing out of their rocky obstacles. Short grasses and clover pad feet and knees and paws. If you’re a human, you can drop to your side and strap your arms around your chest. On hills, arms can get in the way, can slow the momentum when rolling the body down in clumsy tumbles.
Oh snowy hill - by FF