At our final Wenatchee Naturalist class last December, Amanda wowed us all with her lyrical poem about Wenatchee watershed wildlife. Read the poem aloud to delight in her magical use of language. Better yet, find a child to share your delight in Amanda’s whimsical wonderings.
THe White River threads its way through a “U” shaped glacier carved valley.
Amanda Fisher
But Where do the Animals Sleep?
by Amanda Fisher, Leavenworth WA, December 19, 2017
I see your house and mine, with green wooden shutters,
But where is the bed for the robin who flutters
It’s wings all day, while catching it’s prey
Or the sockeye who swims and swims all day?
How curious the owl, who swoops down at night
Can anyone guess where he turns off the light?
But where do the animals sleep?
Are they high in a nest, all wrapped up in twigs?
Tucked tight in a burrow, like boxes and lids?
Perhaps under my porch, dark, cool and dense,
Or wedged under my neighbors long, weathered wooden fence.
The ants, I know, shelter deep in a hole,
But does anyone have a bed for a mole?
Lizards too, need a place to rest.
Maybe they share home with a little wren nest.
Deer, elk and sheep… they all run wild…
Do you think they cuddle, in a great big dog pile?
But where do the animals sleep?
Like penguins rotating a circle for warmth,
They share,
They care,
They consider their neighbor…
But who knows in secret, if the toad does a favor
To his friend,
The unassuming black fly
Who just like the frog,
Needs somewhere to lie.
Perhaps the marmot crafts great halls in the earth
With room to share sweet berries, greens and mirth
To his friend the falcon who also seeks high
Places to roam,
High places to fly.
But when the hunt is over, the prey has been caught,
Where does the falcon go, to close up shop?
To dark dens, like mother and cubs,
Of the great bear family,
Who give great big furry bear hugs?
No, the bears relish their own special bed,
The falcon cannot stop there,
To rest his head.
For bears, like me, create homes just right,
To fit exactly their need,
Their store, their size.
Some animals, I imagine take pride in their home,
Be it a nest, a den or under a gray stone.
I’ve seen some homes in my quiet forest strolls,
But I always come away with the thought of “who knows?”.
Who knows how to find out where bouncy rabbits lie,
What I’ve learned, is these creatures are skillfully sly.
I know they’re there,
Snoring and dreaming.
For just like me, their minds keep thinking
Of cedars, and streams, of lupine and showers,
Of raindrops and snowfall,
And long summer hours.
These animals, share so much in common between you and I,
But happen upon them…
Sleeping soundly, warm, and dry…
I haven’t accomplished, though I desperately try.
But where do the animals sleep?
My conclusion is, after all of this searching,
For beds, houses and pillows I imagine squirrels using.,
Is all the creatures, furry and small;
feathered and scaled, the whole lot of them all…
prefer quiet,
peace, and comforting ground….
To rest their heads, and not to be found.
So still I’ll walk these trails and still think,
I see them all day,
But where do they sleep?