Becoming an Animist

Oddly, I was not myself this morning

On my pre-dawn walk with my dogs,

But became an animist, effortlessly

Assured of the spirits in the woods

All around me.

The spirit of the bear suffused

My mind from his vague profile

At the top of the small rise.

It was only the twisted branch

Of a fallen Ash waiting to rot,

But it could have been a bear in profile.

The hungry essence of the coyote,

The psychopath of these woods,

Trotted at a distance

Alerting my senses.

There was no sound,

But he is known for stealth.

The arch of maples and white pines

Offered me comfort

Like an arm over my shoulder,

Although I know this walk well.

I do not doubt these spirits

Are there, whispering to me.

I do not need to dismiss them

As the tricks of mind.

Although I am inclined towards science

And its great rational edifice.

I know other ways to apprehend

Also, and welcome them

On my early walk.

1/2015