When a deer walks right up to you--I mean right up, so you can see the moisture on its nose, maybe, you think, you're all right.
When hummingbirds hang in the air beside you, hey, maybe you're not so bad.
When a garter snake makes an appearance in the grass below your step,
then climbs that step, and spends the afternoon there, his tiny head moving back and forth as if sweeping the air for invisible flies, little tongue flicking
into the cracks between the wooden boards, both of you quiet, and mindful of the other, what's the story there?
Does he live here?
Are you the interloper?
Hornby Island. And writing all the time.