Elk: Late Morning
With his herd, he is now wary.
He must show the others he is king of the hill,
especially because I surprised him —
all of them —
around the bend of the mown trail.
One side a forest;
one side a tall grass field.
He stares me down.
I tilt my straw visor down;
no eye contact.
You didn’t see me as a threat before, I plead silently —
I’m still no threat.
I move slowly to the base of a forked tree.
If elks charge
I can quickly hide behind the fork.
His many points will gouge the aspen, not me — I hope.
He voices his displeasure
with a high-pitched shriek
that increases in volume and ends in a low taut bark.
Is it a warning?
I should sit down, make myself smaller,
make myself into an inconsequential rock.
But how many boulders are white with bold orange flowers
and shimmering sequins?
I am more concerned with grass stains than being gored;
thriftiness prevails.
A yearling male — a spike — in velvet
emerges from the forest with its mother.
Now he must show me his authority.
He sounds another shriek
and drives the spike and mother away,
crashing into the forest after them,
snapping dry branches with his clumsy,
yet magnificent, rack —
a one-elk stampede.
He only plows through a short distance,
a gesture to make his point.
They gradually return, chastised.
Will he chastise me?
I ruminate on that question.
I am sitting now,
grass stains be damned!
For all my love of nature,
I am also a realist.
I will not climb into an enclosure with a wolf
because our eyes met in a special way.
I have been hooved in the chest
by a well-meaning friendly deer,
attacked by a seemingly demure swan,
bitten out of the blue in a petting zoo by a draft horse.
I am a weakling
and papa bull is twice my size, at least.
I wait out the herd — uncomfortably;
imagine deer ticks crawling on me
and my pretty floral outfit.
At last the thirteenth elk moves into the woods.
I arise, brush the grass from my rump
and walk on
knowing my place.
Elk: Midafternoon
Innocently reading a book by a rabbi
in my gray cinderblock cell
at a retreat run by Cistercian nuns,
I was momentarily sidetracked
by a piercing shriek
ascending in both volume and register.
The bull elk was outside my door.
I quickly yet quietly slipped onto the porch
settling myself into a chair.
He was close
and his herd even closer.
One female
who seemed to get more leeway than the others
walked right towards me
as if she intended to join me on the porch for a chat.
Less than ten feet away
she changed course to walk around me,
but not before stopping and staring.
Her look was not like his — dominating —
but benign;
a look that said:
We are equally curious about one another.
She disappeared behind the building
voicing her dolphin chirps.
Were these strange noises to let her counterpart know her whereabouts?
Pinpoint her location for safety?
He felt comfortable now — unchallenged —
and let his front knees hit the ground,
his back legs folding under his hindquarters.
He began languidly munching
on the soft grass that grows in the shadows.
In his stillness I could finally count his points:
nine on one side,
eight on the other.
The gang began to relax,
half of them now in similar positions,
tearing grass from where they lay.
I went back inside to get my book about yearning.
For a moment, we all felt satisfied.
Elk: Twilight
He, the vigilant seventeen-point elk, has lain down.
He brought his herd into an open field to bed for the night.
Most are collapsed with hooves under bodies,
still grazing.
How does he sleep
carrying that heavy weight on his head?
I feel for him
having to constantly prove he is worthy.
Can he ever truly rest,
one eye open in case something is awry,
one ear pricked for the yelping, gulping sound of his herd?
He stretches out his neck,
rests his chin on the ground.
The weight is off
for a moment now;
the weight is off.
Photos © Sondra Sula.
Take a walk with me by reading my daily devotional book, Meditations on Mendocino by Sondra Sula. Available on Amazon in paperback or Kindle versions.
If you’d prefer a daily river walk, Reflections on the Fox River and Beyond by Sondra Sula, might just be the book for you.
Easter is over for this year, 
kiss me, sun!
Bee: When you rest, magic happens.
I came across a rock at the beginning of my walk engraved with the words:
But was I, really?
Metal Arbor: Look up — and you will see Me.
Navarro, California is a small town not too far from where I live. And I’m talking tiny: as in less than 150 people. 
Where are you going, Rock?
I’ve been a morning person for a long time, but it hasn’t always been so. 
Pelican Bluffs is a recent acquisition of Mendocino Land Trust (an organization that purchases land for preservation and public use). The shoals there look a bit like a waterlogged cemetery. 
What is around the next bend?
Will it be something beautiful?
Amusing?
Dramatic?
A reminder that we all must expire?
The very place I stood will eventually crumble into the sea. 
The black blur sped by ten inches from my nose
Sondra Sula's Blog: The Nature of Spirituality 