Out On a Limb

On an early spring
morning
an opossum
on the lean branch
of an old red oak
perked her leathery ears
and looked down into my eyes,
“Where have you been?”
she asked,
“What are you waiting for?”
she asked,
“Everything is emerging,”
she said,
her pink nose lifting and setting
long, elegant whiskers,
as if she could confirm it
by the scent of the world.
I thought of this:
How there is something
mysterious that arrives  
to urge us out of
the necessary darknesses
when the planets align
just so and, maybe,
it’s not as evident as
an ardent ‘possum, but still,
it shows up and asks
of us to do the same—
to cross the threshold
of ourselves—
the earth remembering
us as she remembers
herself,
necessarily,
as we inhabit the
very same otherness.



To go out on a limb
is to be vulnerable,
yes,
but it’s where you find
those best positioned
to lift others up to
the vantage point
of joy.



I went
and climbed
a
tree.

— Jamie K. Reaser