Earth

I walk on an interwoven fabric

of Rock and Root

Feather and Bone
and

                                                               

Blood.

My blood.

The cut on my finger bleeds; it bleeds a lot. I cannot

find a bandage and blood is everywhere. It drips

on my bare legs, my pack and on the ground

littered with Arbutus skin and leaves—

Arbutus blood, my blood, co-mingling

with all that came before:

the worm, the bird,

the cougar, the

human.  Me.

The top

of the apex in this blood-letting land: hikers, hunters, loggers and soldiers: hewers of wood, drawers of water, consumers and usurers, the naïve and the cunning, eliminating, throwing away or killing what doesn’t belong in our pyramid of beliefs, a philosophy of conquest and winning.

Survival.

At all costs.

This classic conflicts of man versus nature and man versus man runs through me but the narrative has changed.

I bleed.

I bleed on Self.

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