big falls
by
Alicia carroll
When the early evening Sun shines into my eyes,
spotlighting the green in my irides—
when Sun’s rays reach sideways across Earth’s face,
illuminating the leaves of grass—
when the sunlit land sparkles with the plants’ neon gleam—
this color of time is a sacred place to me.
It’s Mother’s Day, and I miss my mama.
This familiar lifelong feeling drives me
to the mountains—they remind me of her—
in the land of the Yuhaaviatam, —People of the Pines—
to seek solace in sacred green.
I step from stone to stone to cross the creek
and enter the forest full of old growth oak and pine,
where red and yellow wildflowers tremble in the breeze,
deep green moss clings to rocks as water overflows them,
swaying grasses grow from crags beside the stream,
and air emanates delicious scents of water-soaked stones,
wild mint, and pinecones.
The rush and roar of the river’s pour
create a wind that cools my skin—
blows my body’s hair in the water’s blessed breath.
As the sunlight shifts, the land’s color palette turns
from grey, tan, and beige to sage, peach, and sienna.
A honeybee dance-draws a map to sustenance
by moving its body in space.
Family members hike together, holding hands,
helping each other over boulders.
Fearless little ones scale the steep gravel hill,
secure in their belonging.
I wade into the pool at the top of the trail,
brace myself against the cliffside,
and let the cascading water pummel my head and shoulders.
I gasp, hold my breath, then scream and laugh.
The snowmelt freezes my brain and rebirths me.
I’m awake again.
I lie down to dry on my favorite boulder
at the edge of a cliff where the water continues its endless journey.
Staring at the sky, I remember that blue is an illusion—
a trick of the sunlight scattered by interaction with air molecules.
Resting on the rock, I remember that stillness is an illusion—
we are constantly moved, hurtled through infinity,
through our parents’ loins, to be here now
in a spiraling galaxy with twirling stars, spinning planets, revolving moons.
Compelled by corporeal needs, I rise reluctantly
and head back down the trail.
I stop at the roadside Tex-Mex restaurant, sit at the patio table
with the rainbow-striped umbrella.
I notice a dog reposing beneath a neighboring table,
and I know that dog is really a wolf.
The not-a-dog peers at me while I eat chips full of salsa,
and I sense that Wolf is a ghost of myself,
a guide for my spirit.
Wolf’s human companions rise to leave,
and the wolf-on-a-leash walks directly to me,
stands on their hind legs right beside me,
rests their front paws on the tabletop,
turns their head to face my face,
and looks into my eyes.
“A wolf!?” I exclaim, as Wolf and I stare into each other’s souls.
One human companion confirms,
“Yes, American Gray,”
and I wonder how Wolf got this far south.
Wolf’s eyes transfix me as I pet their fur,
softer than a dog’s, more like a rabbit.
In the eyes of this stranger’s captive friend,
I see that my mother is here within me,
and I am within everything,
an integral part of all existence.
I thank Wolf and smile into their glowing green eyes,
and there I see my own reflected.
QUOTE AS:
Alicia Carroll. Big Falls. The Living Commons Collective Magazine. N.3, September 2025. p. 96-99
