Looking for Feathers in the Sierra Nevada
1993

Looking for feathers
teaches new vision.
The trail narrows, and
seeing microscopes to
pinecones, leaves, ants,
bits of wood decorated
by the pecking of birds.

Looking for feathers,
glancing up to honor a birdcall,
the eye is startled by enormity:
a glimpse of glacial snow
filling a bowl of granite
fashioned by forces of ice
long melted,
long rivered away to
arid landscapes below.

The surprise of enormity
sets the body reeling,
dizzying back down to
dependable ground.
You feel part of things
there in trail dust;
matter embodied.

Be careful, though.
Grow familiar with new vision slowly:
hunt grounded feathers first.
Looking at wings in flight too soon,
unfamiliar with wind currents and updrafts,
spiraling out into eternity,
you can lose your soul.

From A Hermit Holds My Heart
Ellen Porter
Benetvision