Shelter In Place

Every slightly bright day

I go out and walk the trails

because I’m so impatient

for the flowers to rise up

and it’s Spring.

I also go out to practice breathing deeply

I run a little 

and let my chest fill up and down,

my heart speeds up getting stronger as I walk

and I think

maybe this will

increase my lung capacity and

save me from needing a

ventilator.

When I was a kid my mother

had to rush me to the ER sometimes

because I had asthma

until I learned that if I wanted to breath 

I had to let life inside me

and back out.

It was my first real act of surrender

and I still have to practice.

So I walk and breath

and watch for flowers.

It’s not uncommon here

to find makeshift shelters

and fire pits,

tarps tied down to driftwood.

In the foothills,

a fortunately lost place

where rusted shadows and old tires have run loose

like the slack and hanging remains

of barbed wire fences.

The water cleared up here a long time ago

after “progress” moved out.

There are many famous local legends

about hermits

and individualists who only went to town

twice a year 

on foot

and by choice

which happens still, 

but no one talks much about rural homelessness

and poverty

even when we live with it

among the wild leeks and native ginger.

Instead we say

this place must belong to a survivalist

There’s a new home built along the creek

I thought it was just a pile of debris

from the flood at first,

but then I could see 

how neatly placed the branches were

against the rusty pieces of sheet metal,

a circle of stones for a hearth

and well swept.

I yelled a “hello,”

no response.

I went on my way

pleased to know that

someone is that resilient

and capable still

of building a shelter in place.