Night Whispers

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The portal of the night
illuminated by moon
and silvery-etched clouds
promises cosmic mysteries
to the dreamer
who navigates by the stars.
The faint inky outline
of the mountains,
hunched together  
like sleeping giants,        
casts a shadow
across the land
where once
the Old Ones walked.

There are spirits
abroad in the land 
this night.
I can feel them
close, but just beyond
my sight.

Grandfather Cedar towers,
black against the starlit sky.
On the fencepost,
an owl's yellow eyes
are fixed on my passing
like a messenger
from the other world,
an oracle,
a harbinger,
a soothsayer,
a feathered prophet.

What are you
trying to tell me?
I ask.
What is it that I
need to know?

Looking up,
all is beauty,
all is peaceful,
all is silence,
all is promise.

I feel the spirits, near,
the eyes of the ancient ones
looking at me with unspoken request.
I see the world as it was in the Old Ways,
shift my vision to what we have become,
weep for  the displaced, 
the dispossessed,
fur beings and humans alike,
who wander this disintegrating planet
in an endless quest
for sustenance
and peace.
Nearby and all across this island
are razed, desecrated slopes
where the Standing People
once stood green and thick and proud.
My thoughts turn to
the creatures that fly and slither,
that swim in  the oceans 
and lakes and rivers,
waters that now are ailing;
and to the polluted air,
the melting icecaps,
the damaged ozone.
My heart sends an apology
to the air and mountains,
earth and sky,
we Two-Leggeds have
so afflicted.

Owl tells me:
place your hands upon
the trunk of Grandfather Cedar.
Sink your roots deep into the earth.
Sing your song of love
beneath Grandmother Moon,
and send it on the midnight wind
to the ancient ones,
who will carry it
to their sweat lodges
in prayerful ceremony.

Yes, there are spirits here,
inviting us to broaden our vision
from the seen
to the unseen,
to clasp hands with the ancestors
who have come to help us heal
Mother Earth's
deep wounds.