The land has a spirit. You can find it in a dead ponderosa pine.
You can find it in a living stone.
In the long life record of pine bark and pitch.
In the mountain above it.
You can find it in the light soaking through white cloud onto a dead pine.
Or an old colony of lichen.
The same patterns are in the bark on the log lying among the rocks.
And in the rock itself.
Even without lichen.
And then the new tree breaks the pattern…
… affirming it, as does the balsam root …
… the rattlesnake den …
… and the sparrow.
This is ponderosa pine’s world.
… and mullein’s…
These are her patterns.
The land reveals itself through her.
And vice versa.
The land is a form of weather.
The weather is a form of land.
It neither hides nor reveals it.
And then there’s the water!
All the way to the moon…