We are the people of the woods
We know the paths, the trees, the streams
We know the rocks, the thickets, the flowers
We know very mushroom, every fruit, every acorn
We know every animal, every mammal,
Every bird, every reptile, every amphibian,
Every fish, every insect,
Every spider, every beetle,
Every ant and every bee
Even the ticks, the wasps, the flies that bite
Even the larvae and the babies
The caterpillars and cocoons
The creatures that hide underground
That burrow under the leaves, among the roots
Deeper and deeper into the world below
Under the forest floor.
We know our kin, our brothers and sisters
Moose and bear, deer and wolf
Coyote and fisher, skunk and porcupine,
Racoons and weasels, beavers and foxes
Chipmunks and rabbits, squirrels and voles,
Salamanders, turtles, lizards and snakes
Leeches and catfish, perch and trout
And all the great parliament of hundreds of fowls
Eagles and owls and hawks and ravens
Turkeys and herons and geese and ducks
Loons and kingfishers, robins and wood thrushes
Finches and warblers and brave little chickadees
Cowbirds and hummingbirds, crows and bluebirds
We know their habits and songs and migrations
We know their foods and places to nest.
We know the dragonflies, butterflies, moths
We know the billions of creatures too small to be reckoned
That fill in the fabric and make it all work.
We know the murmurings of the wood-wide web
Under and over and above and around us
We know the dawn time when sunlight is golden
Slanting and picking out light prints in darkness
We know the wakenings of creatures by day
We know the chorus of life in the mornings
The rustlings the snuffling the scratchings the paddings
The silence of the little ones when the mountain lion goes by.
We know the slow descent into twilight
The sunlight caressing the line of the mountains
The still of the lake surface ruffled by breezes
The plopping of frogs and the jumping of fish
The pooling of darkness, the gathering of shadows
We know the quiet of the snow-bound deep winter
The quiet of the forest on hot summer days
We wake in the darkness of night hunters calling
The hooting and screeching of owls as they're flying
Silent and deadly for each vole and mouse.
And under the quiet and the business of living
The calm of the spirits, the souls of the woods
The breath of the centuries, the ages of Earth,
The times that we're part of, our brothers and sisters
That all of us share into death and rebirth.
This is our city, our city of nature
Its palaces, temples, its treasures and byways
Nature's great city where we have our place.
