The Hunt For the Spirit Cave
From the house departed we enter a dark wood
Bow slung over shoulder, read the signs in the grass
Bear has been here and the fox and the wolf
We feel no urge to hunt them today
Today we seek the spirits; we search for their den
“Over the hill,” cry the trees, “over the hill.”
They speak of places beyond our reach but still, we will go
Over the hill, over the hill
Calves burn, thighs ache, muscle and bone pushed to the limit
Over the hill, over the hill
We give all we have to push and pull our way over the steep, steep ground
Here the fox sees us, on the side of the hill, and runs over to greet us
“Brother Hunter, Brother Hunter,” he says, “You give no chase?”
“Is our coat not sleek enough? Why do you not hunt?”
Today we seek the spirits. Today we climb the hill.
“Climb? Can you not run? Can you not dash? Why do you labor here? The spirits await.”
We will come. But we must go our own way. The thorns will scrape. The undergrowth will cling.
We cannot run. We cannot dash.
We are Man. We must climb.
“Foolish Man.”
The hill looms before us and we climb
Here the wolf sees us and lopes to our side
“Brother Hunter, here I see you climb. Do you not feed this day? Do you not seek the kill?”
Today we seek the spirits. Today we climb the hill.
“Alone? Do you not have a pack to give you company? Do you not have a clan to share the load? Why do you go so slowly?”
As fast as we can we rush the hill. Our food we must bring with us. Our lives we must carry.
We cannot have company. We cannot share the load.
We are a man. We must climb.
“Foolish man.”
The sun fades with every step. The hill seems to grow around us. Trees stretch to the sky like fingers from the earth, black and shining they creak like thunder, like the world churning, like death knocking.
The sky lights like fire or a garden in bloom, bursting into color. Birdsong sounds out from a distance and echoes surround us. A chill night wind begins to blow, rustling the leaves and brush, warming to its message. Night is on the way.
And in the dying light, Bear finds us. He is great and monstrous. He is a pillar. He is hunter and gatherer. He is fisher and harvester.
“Brother,” he says. “I have heard these words and see them now as true. You climb the hill.”
We climb the hill.
He nods his great head. He sees us climb. He sees us alone.
He nods his great head. “This is right and this is good. This is well. This is well.”
Alone, he leaves us.
Alone, we curve over the top
And here we rest alone, for that is all we have brought with us.
Bow slung over shoulder, read the signs in the grass
Bear has been here and the fox and the wolf
We feel no urge to hunt them today
Today we seek the spirits; we search for their den
“Over the hill,” cry the trees, “over the hill.”
They speak of places beyond our reach but still, we will go
Over the hill, over the hill
Calves burn, thighs ache, muscle and bone pushed to the limit
Over the hill, over the hill
We give all we have to push and pull our way over the steep, steep ground
Here the fox sees us, on the side of the hill, and runs over to greet us
“Brother Hunter, Brother Hunter,” he says, “You give no chase?”
“Is our coat not sleek enough? Why do you not hunt?”
Today we seek the spirits. Today we climb the hill.
“Climb? Can you not run? Can you not dash? Why do you labor here? The spirits await.”
We will come. But we must go our own way. The thorns will scrape. The undergrowth will cling.
We cannot run. We cannot dash.
We are Man. We must climb.
“Foolish Man.”
The hill looms before us and we climb
Here the wolf sees us and lopes to our side
“Brother Hunter, here I see you climb. Do you not feed this day? Do you not seek the kill?”
Today we seek the spirits. Today we climb the hill.
“Alone? Do you not have a pack to give you company? Do you not have a clan to share the load? Why do you go so slowly?”
As fast as we can we rush the hill. Our food we must bring with us. Our lives we must carry.
We cannot have company. We cannot share the load.
We are a man. We must climb.
“Foolish man.”
The sun fades with every step. The hill seems to grow around us. Trees stretch to the sky like fingers from the earth, black and shining they creak like thunder, like the world churning, like death knocking.
The sky lights like fire or a garden in bloom, bursting into color. Birdsong sounds out from a distance and echoes surround us. A chill night wind begins to blow, rustling the leaves and brush, warming to its message. Night is on the way.
And in the dying light, Bear finds us. He is great and monstrous. He is a pillar. He is hunter and gatherer. He is fisher and harvester.
“Brother,” he says. “I have heard these words and see them now as true. You climb the hill.”
We climb the hill.
He nods his great head. He sees us climb. He sees us alone.
He nods his great head. “This is right and this is good. This is well. This is well.”
Alone, he leaves us.
Alone, we curve over the top
And here we rest alone, for that is all we have brought with us.
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