Poems, stories, and reflections, written by faculty, staff, and volunteers currently serving in the Village.
How could I be mad at a hummingbird?
I watched it innocently hover near the hummingbird feeder on the porch, dipping its narwhal-like beak into the sugar water while its iridescent ruby throat and copper body glittered in the morning sunlight. I looked over and saw brilliant yellow daffodils and a ground squirrel briskly kneading its little paws into the grass to retrieve a snack. My glance moved to the three deer casually sauntering down the path, up toward the bright green buds on the cottonwood trees, then up to the imposing rock face of Copper Mountain.
I was angry because the world around me keeps moving on even though I desperately want it to stop. Just STOP and acknowledge our pain and grief – as individuals, as a community, as a species.
But why should I expect sympathetic looks from the deer? A few months of pandemic are just a blip in the geologic time that these mountains have seen. We humans don’t seem to care much when our plant, animal, and rock siblings are threatened by habitat loss, climate change, or extraction. Why would this valley do anything else but turn to spring, as it has for thousands of years?
No matter how much we try to make our mark on the world – tending our homes, doing our jobs, building community – it all just turns to rocks and rubble.
Overtaken by trees and moss and bear, like the Winston Trail.
Callie Mabry is Writer/Editor at Holden Village. This column was originally published on May 6, 2020 in a daily newsletter, "The Quarantine Quarter," which is compiled by various staff members and sent to all Villagers.