Their World

Deer mice skidding crazy circles
within the rim of the unwashed frypan
all cutesy eyes and flashing feet, tail 
faithfully whipping after before
we start the campfire and head
over to the lip of the lake to wash
up from our evening meal. Red
squirrels remark on our presence
tossing pine cones from above.
Sipping tea our heads raised to 
the Milky Way, shooting stars zip 
by. A last night-paddle on the dark
quiet lake, our canoe leaving bright 
pearls in our wake under the
luminous moon, watching bats
skim the lake into the trees, tent 
glowing at its distance illuminated 
by the candle-lantern awaiting our
return, we soon hoist our food pack
high in the trees, then snugly warm
in sleeping bags within the tent
we wake to the whirr of mice sliding 
happily down the tent fly, but it isn't 
they who snuffle curiously then 
waddle off. In the far distance
coyotes and wolves rend the dark
night with their prolonged chorus
carried throughout the forest by
the night wind. Before dawn grey
jays urge us to rise, more than
willing to share whatever can be
spared from our morning meal.
We are their guests, deep in the
fastness of the northern woods, far 
and distant from the urban divide.