Cold hands, cold water-

Eaten clean the beaver sticks rest in motion

Leading the eye up river

As I walk over the bridge… I see art.

It’s winter as we contemplate

Our co- existence with the beaver.

The one who took down the 60 ft cottonwood.

Her winter silage now intact.

The beaver crewed-wood chips

Feel sacred in my hands.

““““““““““““““““““““`

But there are differing points of view

Some of us are tree lovers- some are animal lovers

As we stand In the snowy field, getting cold feet

Listening to the experts who are thrilled by our interest

Our willingness to come together….

We learn that the tree harvesting should lessen

As the beavers shelter.

Everyone spoke, tensions eased- wild as beavers.

C

In June we will reconvene and perhaps decide

To relocate the beaver.

The St Vrain creek has a “zero” habitat rating

But relocation has low odds of being sucessuful.

In our shared existence as species

Maybe it’s just that we show up

And ask the person( or animal) next to us

for this dance and take a spin at it.