Huckleberry Preserve
Most days we've been walking a few miles, in our neighborhood, in other Oakland and Berkeley neighborhoods, and in the hills or along the bay. Interestingly enough, it took the pandemic to deepen our connection to this place.
Not even ten years here,
in this strange sheltering time,
we are walking our way
into rooting down in place.
To be on land not native
to family and tribe,
to fully live with the earth
not merely on it,
it is necessary
to know, to feel,
to honor, to love
this very land.
This is not easy
in urban places,
where the earth is burdened
with concrete, invaded
by wires and pipes,
where lights besiege all
through the night,
and sounds of traffic
never fall into silence.
But this is the land
we live on,
this is the place
we chose.
We are required
to seek its acceptance,
to surrender our offerings,
to recognize and know
its waters, its hills,
its redwoods and pines,
its magnolias and lemons,
its goldfinches and hummingbirds,
its skunks and raccoons,
and yes,
even its rats.
This is where
our home is,
hereon the continent's
western edge.
May it truly be home.
May we know it
in our bones.
May we love it
enough.
