'Unworthy of this wilderness,
a majesty too great for kings,
lakes and rivers, wide as dreams,
moving faster than my words;
I'm humbled by this wilderness,
I have so little left to hold.
Few are these last provisions;
I am but a guest out here.
I am so small beneath these tall trees;
some fall hard as others rise.
High winds lift them up 'round me;
beat step in their own time.
Bright sun sneaks to hide each day,
so stars more brilliantly can shine.
Dancing native spirit skies,
calm us now, these anxious souls.
No distractions but these sounds
in quiet nights, when stillness cries,
'Forget each second, minute, day.
Treasure what is to be found.'
Respect the fire-maker's food
and all the skills that bring us here.
In the dark, I'll hide ‘til sleep
sharper senses softly stills.
'Small in this big wilderness;
it is much stronger than I am,
'though it shares two-edged kindness
as it wraps me in its will.
It calls me back each year to start
again to find what days forget,
far 'way from this great wonder
lessons by its harshness taught.
'Though it's hard, this wilderness -
I know enough to stand in awe;
I am not worthy of its wildness,
but still it calls me, calls me, calls.
L C Vieira