By Casey Miller and Susan Wilkins
Pine Creek late October
Listen—the north wind
is threading the glass
ropes of its body
thru the dry grass
this one moment
tunneling forward
can you catch
it
can you hold it
 It comes with its
snake shaped head
hissing thru the treetops
crosshatched and stiffening
into winter
dancing slanted up the valley
tracing silver the cold spine
of pine creek
and a few humble rooftops
and look
how light reaches down
with its white ladders
as the canopy burns empty
leaf by falling leaf
into sky
Casey Miller
What I love most about Pine Creek
is that it isn't really about me
the me
that feels somehow so different from the
wind and the rain, the stems of
flowers, the falling leaves
This quiet coulee
still untouched enough
the unarmed beauty
the raw bouquet
perfection realized
petal by petal
wing by shimmering wing
 When I turn the corner
to Rustic Road and park my car to
begin another journey through her
Enchantment
something happens
every time
every time I go there
I breathe each breath more deeply
my eyes and my whole being fill with the
awe and beauty of what
surrounds me here
I am taken out of my small, singular self and
placed back into a world where I belong
Along the way
I am reminded of who I really am
That the beating of my heart is not that
different from the beating steel of
fin on water
That my own eyes reflect the same grace as
that barred owl looking
down at me now
That my bright spirit contains the very
essence that these ten thousand
trilliums hold
Along the way
I am reminded that I truly belong
To this ancient valley with her deep creeks
and carpets of wildflowers
To this quiet place where souls are allowed
to stir
To this fragile dream that we all share and
sculpt together
Along the way
I am reminded of who I really want to be in
this world
A bolt of lightening on a summer night
A warbler singing in the treetops
A human being absolved of the duties of
separation
What I love most about Pine Creek
Is that it is without question the we of me.
Susan Wilkins
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