Ducks write lines in water
beaver testify all along shores

Lakes like fingertips pressed into
the living world for memory
beyond our grasp

And we wonder 
what they talked about, our ancestors, if 

We share tales of them all through
trails pockmarked by horses, deer, dogs
humans at leisure on foot and bike

On our journey to stay grounded
to resonate with other human journeys 
touch the bark and remember starvation
touch the leaf and rejoice

We labour up rain-carved clay banks
tiny injuries absorbed in witness
to our constant passage chattering
through living thrum, and ducks
flex wings in deep green harbours

The wild listens as we unspool
stories seeking common ground

Skies and mountains, migratory
tracing, all in good time

Wise to know what these fellow-travellers
speak - tales of war and industry, division
and collection, each in its season.

One for the Camino Edmonton gang, on the occasion of our ramble at Chickakoo Lake, with special thanks to Graham for getting me yakking such that I forgot my malingering hoof’s malaise, and to my beloved, for the unspoken surety that he’d carry me out if the power of good conversations should fail.