Tetons

I had the opportunity to spend last week with my sixth and seventh grade students at a science camp outside Jackson Hole.  While I was technically working twenty-four hour days for a full week, my duties were so different to those that I have in the classroom.  I was in charge of emotional support, safety, timeliness.  I was in charge of encouraging the kids to be their best selves and in doing so, had the opportunity to do the same.  Every day required ample time for reflection and journaling.  Some of my musings are below, replete with the gratitude inherent in stillness and quiet in nature.

Muscles

The Tetons are grandiose, dramatic,

total show-offs.  They pierce the sky

like futuristic planets,

glow above the hillside,

the sagebrush,

the kind and forgiving

community of aspens,

the lone moose crossing Ditch Creek,

a piercing edge,

a searing crevasse.

They are all muscle and angle,

these staunch guardians

of the valley.

One Tree

The lone,

curvy aspen,

thicker than the rest,

mottled and gray with age.

She’s birthed many babies,

nurtured a bustling brood,

branches reaching haywire,

organized chaos,

holding court on the hillside.

An Odd Obsession with the Columbian Ground Squirrel

In the Tetons, in late April, the ground is still hard with snow,

the moutains alive and charged.  Beneath the earth,

the Columbian ground squirrel sleeps in a frozen cocoon until

she awakes to the sweet sound of grass growing.

If you put her frozen body in a warm hand, you can

watch her come back to life but doing so would deny them her the

opportunity to hear that faint song, smell the green make the dance

upward, feel the tickle on her furry tail before she too begins her

April shuffle, her April scat of squeeks and jives,

wild hops like the old black and white films of people possessed by

reefer madness, running from the room in crazed delirium,

shrieking with unexpected delight.