|Mushrooms by Stream|
Where a rivulet spills down a cliff,
a pounding stone with one shallow mortar
not far from three village sites: Banished
or by choice, someone survived here alone,
no telling how long ago. A coyote
eyes me from deer brush across the stream
in a place so tranquil I’m tempted again
to alienate my tribe: I sense
an Over Soul and see in my mind’s eye
a golden, equal-armed cross resonating
with cosmic harmony. Pressing my face
against the earth to gaze
at tiny mushrooms in the moss,
I feel what it’s like to be mushrooms,
moss, water, stone: Within
the World Soul we are linked together.
I feel something staring at me
and see a wildcat in my mind’s eye.
Moments later I watch a mountain lion
pounce upon a squirrel.