“and the [future] memory of snow”

the ticks never slept
the lilacs just awoke
shh! go back to bed
this clock is all fucked up

the roses’ leaves are greening
the kale and fennel, they never died
i hear the blackbirds singing
yet ripe fruit’s nowhere in sight

he thought he saw “our” brown bats
and i’ve sighted bunnies in the field
i’ve worried about pre-emergence
now, these worries become real

february rains replaced snowpack
another cause for dread
the maplesap’s begun to flow
it seems that winter’s all but dead

We are all bound by a covenant of reciprocity: plant breath for animal breath, winter and summer, predator and prey, grass and fire, night and day, living and dying. Water knows this, clouds know this. Soil and rocks know they are dancing in a continuous giveaway of making, unmaking, and making again the earth. Our elders say that ceremony is the way we can remember to remember. In the dance of the giveaway, remember that the earth is a gift that we must pass on, just as it came to us. When we forget, the dances we’ll need will be for mourning. For the passing of polar bears, the silence of cranes, for the death of rivers and the memory of snow.

Robin Wall Kimmerer