When the old campesino’s
engorged and readied
by your own sweetness,
how do you feel?
(C) 2005-2011/Jamie K. Reaser
The Sun comes each day to
court the Earth,
warming her body with his
She blushes streams
and ponds and rivers
when he woos.
And when they make love,
(c) 2004-2011/Jamie K. Reaser
from "Sacred Reciprocity: Courting the Beloved in Everyday Life"
says he recently returned.
First near, then far,
then near again.
Is his soul fickle?
This audible advance and retreat,
advance and retreat.
In the misty dusk air he circles.
With his feathered body,
he recites the ancient spiral dance known to all mystics,
He announces the auspicious Truth of who he is.
Suddenly the Cosmos calls him skyward
and he casts himself into the heavens.
Up he launches in body and soul,
outward and inward.
He twitters in the winged voice of ecstasy,
a cascade of emotions released so emphatically
that they collide upon utterance.
His heart becomes frantic as he circles
a hundred meters arisen
above bog or meadow or powerline cut.
The heart must expand or explode.
The heart must expand or explode.
And then, at climax, he chirps.
He chirps a loud vocal, urgent “Yes!” chirp,
signifying his acceptance of
the holy duties of embodiment.
More vocal chirps amidst twittering.
His heart has expanded beyond reason.
Oh, take note:
The descent that follows is no defiance
of The Great Spirit.
It is instead acknowledgment.
Acknowledgment of his willingness
to pledge himself in service
Of the Great Mother.
Of the destined union of God and Goddess.
Where he lands,
Ready to play Her part.
Ready, like he, to give the Spirits an intimate
flesh form through which to dance
© 2009-2011/Jamie K. Reaser
When woodcocks return from migration in the spring
the males perform an elaborate, aerial courtship dance.
The twittering sound is not a vocalization, but a sound
produced by a special feather in their wings.
Art: (c) Jamie K. Reaser
At daybreak, as the first flurries fell,
the dog brought me report
“There, on the ridge line!” exclaimed
“There, on the ridge line! See?” She
insisted and beckoned, repeatedly.
No, I didn’t see him.
But, I felt him.
I remembered the uniqueness of the
full-body prick and tingle
from our first meeting –
two winters ago,
under circumstances of similar snow pack,
similar snow promise.
Naively he padded down the drive toward the cabin,
until, suddenly, our twelve senses mingled -
causing us both pause,
In the instant our eyes met, he drew me near
in a wild, chaotic embrace
Taken in that manner, you must gasp.
…and then sigh.
He is memory in an instant.
On, this day,
he returned in form,
longing for more.
How often had he watched me?
There are times, when doing farm chores,
that I feel my every move measured.
Does coyote know my routines, know my stride and gate?
If so, he knows me better than most.
But, I am not to be flattered.
“No, I spoke to him.”
I have made my offerings to bird,
and even mouse.
Fatten your predator hide on these.
What you ask of me is too much.
The lives here are not mine to give.
None desires to separate body from soul
this day or this night.
Not for you.
Not for me.
And so, ridge running coyote,
know this -
despite chill and the threat of tree-bending winds,
dog and I will remain awake to your presence.
It is our duty.
It is what we shepherds do.
We are the edge walkers between the
wild and the domestic.
The flurries still fall.
© 2010-2011/Jamie K. Reaser