On a crisp Spring morning on a trail
at a point I was walking my bike;
a titmouse alit on a branch before me
chattering in urgent feathered hostility
so that I realized I had come too close
to her vulnerable nest and turned aside.
At the zoo, family gone to the toilet,
leaving me locked in a staring contest
with a magnificent white Siberian tiger
whose semi-bored attention was piqued
when I began ducking behind objects
and stalked his green-eyed majesty.
Walking toward the tall Huecos Tanks
in West Texas, preparing for a climb
but drawn to a fluttering of blue jays;
rounding a corner in the path to find
an egg stealing grey fox enduring patiently,
baleful gaze begging me to rescue him.
Howler apes, congas the Nicaraguans
called them, whose tree canopy habitat
ranged over a coffee vinca in a cloud forest,
screaming at me when we appeared below
then accurately hurling their own feces at us
to drive us away from their privacy.
A night forced sleeping on a rural porch
everyone else in bed long before arrival;
stretched sleeping bag atop a picnic bench,
heard a scraping from under concrete stairs
came eye to eye with a skunk waking to hunt
both of us tacitly agreeing to live and let.
For me the most enduring moments
are when individuals from afield
who normally live beyond the pale
engage me in personal encounters,
take me to task or reach understanding,
so that the pantheon stretching behind them
becomes real and ever more precious to me.
