Indian Peaks

Think of the genius of the animals,
every one truly what it is:
gnat, fox, minnow, swallow, each made
of light and luminous within itself.
They know (better than we do) how
to live in the places where they live.
-Wendell Berry, "Some Further Words"

The mountain stream our mumbling guide,

provisions on our backs,

we tried on the hobby

of living simply.

It hung on us with the oddity

of new leather.

Squirming in the stiff discomfort

of strangely sloping rest,

Stretching the sinews of consciousness

to the limit of its manufactured raiments,

Groping in the dimming dusk

for tinder and a spark

to domesticate this animal domain,

We luxuriate in the elaboration

of once simple tasks,

Congratulate ourselves

the foresight of sheltering firewood,

Savor a modest meal of fish and rice

which could not grow within

a three moon walk of these peaks.

Even here our most pressing activity,

beside sleeping,

is distinctly human.

We walk steadily most of the day

to return where we started

having gathered no item of necessity.

We admire moose and squirrel and marmot,

making no effort to acquire their meat or hides.

We wonder at the stars

without needing their direction.

We study the color and scent

of dripping alpine meadows

with no thought of nutrients or remedies.

We simply slide down from the divide,

our mark on the land

almost as intangible

as its mark on us.