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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Family >> ID #1615314 |
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Building a Cabin In the cool, moist forest soil I dig with pick and shovel, cutting roots and prying rocks. Small animals dig burrows. Birds build nests in tree branches. I dig for a foundation. In footsteps of my forebears I pour footings and lay beams for a small, rustic cabin. I'm on Birch Island, former hunting ground for several native tribes who summered here. I'm always on the lookout for rare pottery fragments from past civilizations. Perhaps, birdstones from the Point Peninsula People from two thousand years ago.1 Or, more recently, from the Rideau Lakes Mississauga of the Ojibwa nation. 2 My presence here may appear as an act of aggression -- violence against nature. However, nature is a violent place; home of both the hunter and the hunted. I have seen spirit hunters, long haired natives stalking prey then vanishing in the night. The previous owners were a nice, elderly couple. Their presence still very strong. Their spirits overwhelm me and ask that I take care of the property they loved. Thomas Aquinas stated Flora and fauna have souls,3 therefore, I must protect them. Among the whispering pines, animals, plants and spirits, I accept guardianship. Gradually, walls are raised, the roof is covered and sealed -- I am snug in my cabin. ![]() Footnotes
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