Something crazy in the air,
some turvy ancient wheel reels off its metabolic hinges
letting loose a pent-up tribe of spirits and souls
who skitter across the boundary surfaces of mind and matter
shaking loose vestigial ice, releasing a flood of rushing water.
A sweeping down of bluebirds
a swarm of bumble bees—
Fox is a live thrumming string
curious as the din in the budding leaves.
Only in the crack before dawn is there silence.
The moon sets, the first bird whistles
a spark of sun hits the edge of the canyon
and a little wind rustles the waking world.
In a meadow below
a bear emerging from her den lifts her head to sniff the lilting breeze.
She shuffles along the margins of the forest scraping insects from rotten logs,
unsteady amid the raucous tumult
hungry as the surge of unlocked streams.
By Peggy Beck
Peggy V. Beck has authored books and published poems and essays in anthologies and magazines. She lives in the mountains of northern New Mexico where she is an artist, musician, monitors migratory birds, and works on habitat restoration in her watershed.