Eco feminism – Page 2 – Feminism and Religion

Of Birds and Dogs –Invisible Birds and the Weaver by Sara Wright

I am not feeding my year-round avian friends in the hopes that ‘my’ phoebes can nest in peace above my door and raise their brood without red squirrel interference. Last night I startled a nesting mother by turning on an outdoor light, so egg laying has begun. Every day I apologize to my beloved chickadees who must find food elsewhere (for now).

It’s hard to ignore the truth. So many birds that used to be common around here are gone. Mourning doves and white throated sparrows are two species that I miss too much. Occasionally, I hear a solitary w/t sparrow’s call. In March one mourning dove visited for a day; the flocks are gone

In this space in between bird loss and my choice not to feed those that I recognize by sight and sound, I have gradually learned how to listen to the invisible warblers that have probably been here all along.

Return to Sender by Sara Wright

you whistled
my name
four notes
chilled
prickly skin
needling
truth
we are
forever
bound
you
bird
woman
owl
tree
wounding
wounding
wounding
we weep
grief
grief
grief
too deep
half a
million
dead
gunned down
by Explosive Will
I make
no apology
Return
atrocity
to those
whose
behaviors
will one
day
destroy
them
too.
What we do to nature we do to ourselves.

Context for Poem:

Yesterday I wrote an essay about the barred owl killings beginning with a personal story about my relationship with barred owls. I have known about this Federal Fish and Wildlife Organization’s proposal since 2023.

‘Willowing’ at the Turning by Sara Wright

My relationship with and time spent with Indigenous peoples reinforced my intuitive sense that seasonal turnings like the Spring Equinox need to be honored and experienced when the ‘time’ is right. Time, in the Indigenous sense is fluid. Because of this learning I have come to understand that although it is important to write a little ceremony that includes guardians, elements, prayer, gratitude, framing intentions/release that I also need to allow the powers of nature to determine when the actual passage occurs. Indigenous people dance their ceremonies which helped me understand that any experience that transpires around these turnings may become the body of the ceremony if it feels right though the words were written earlier. This year around the equinox darkness reigned in every sense of the word. Having set my intentions, I waited, wondering when the door would open… yesterday it did, and this is the story of what happened. Only afterwards did I realize that in every sense we had honored and experienced the beginning of spring and the rising of clear waters.

My Vet and dearest friend made one of his unscheduled visits. The moment after I got the text my little dogs began to bark. This is normal behavior for both animals who adore their Uncle Gary and are tuned into him on levels that defy explanation (he lives more than a half an hour away). They bark until he arrives, regardless of whether this is a regular visit, or one that’s a surprise. We keep track of the exact timing of his leave – taking, their behavior and his arrival for fun.

Ice Above and Below and the Coming of the Light by Sara Wright

January’s twilight
hours draw me
into her pale embrace
stalactites and frozen
streams whisper
that winter’s skin
is thin even with
months to go
flowing water
is muted
under seeded snow
underground roots
pulse
with light
sleeping
forest boughs
wake in wild winds
crack and moan
rest in peace
at dawn
bears sleep
fox and weasel
seek slivers of
open water
I walk in slow
motion to
stay upright
at the edge
of a meandering
serpentine stream
listening for
the scent
of just one
hemlock singing
feeling the tangles
of gray and green
Indoors
standing at the window
I ask
how many
forested eyes
are meeting my own?

Oh, California, My California by Marie Cartier

Marie in the Pacific Palisades, circa 2000

This is my home—California…I moved here from New Hampshire, Boston, upstate New York, Ohio, Colorado…why did I move here? I kept moving West…I used to say I came as far as I could without falling into the ocean.

California. My wife is a native Californian. She says people come here for “the California promise.” And we’ll say it often –what is that? Oh yes, the California promise. The sunset drops into the ocean. A true orange ball of spreading colors into pinks, reds…and then it slips into the ocean.

I take my dog Zuma, named after a California beach…to Huntington Dog Beach where she can run two miles before she even has to turn around. A life “other dogs just dream about” says travel mags. I make a wish on every sunset I see that slides into the Pacific. Past the edge of my world into the deep ocean…A moon will rise. A waxing gibbous, a full, a waning gibbous, a new, a dark, a crescent…and I will walk under those, too, and make wishes, too.

MOTHER OAK by Dale Allen

We sat on the in the leaves, my daughter and I, in the warm autumn sun under the Great Mother Oak. Here and there fallen leaves danced lightly in the breeze. It felt good to be directly connected to the ground, bent knees and bare feet on the land. We leaned back and looked up at the tree in all her glory. She was still filled with yellow green leaves… her canopy so high that from up there, she can “see” the other neighborhood trees with many years like she has.

She has been here in this place since the end of the 1700s or the beginning of the 1800s. She was here with the first European settlers of this place. Her mother had been here before that, with the last generations of the people who were of this land for 15,000 years or more: the Paugussett People. We could feel this history. We could feel the tree’s mother. And then, from beneath the ground where their energy remains steady, we heard the voice of the Paugussett. They thanked us for acknowledging their presence. They said that they can feel our profound love for this place where we live, here in Black Rock, Connecticut… our love for the trees, the leaves, the flowers, the osprey, the red tail hawks, the fox, the squirrels, the rabbits, the insects, the shore, the waters of coastal Connecticut (Long Island Sound), the shells, the sand, the sparkles, the historical homes, the families, the new babies. We love this land. We love our home. And the Paugussett saw this love. The Mother Oak saw this love.

A Leaf Peeper’s Reflection by Sara Wright

Twice a year, once in May for a few days and during the first week of October I can’t leave home because I’ll miss the next moment of spring flowering or scarlet flames.

Last week I was captivated by how the golden morning light affects each deciduous leaf. For about five days I ran inside and out all morning to feast upon the astonishing leaf color changes as the sun rose higher. ‘Fire on the Mountain’, crimson, gold, seductive sultry salmon brilliance. In and out for hours. I drove my dogs crazy. Noting the bees on the blushing hydrangea, glad for dragonflies cruising around the house. Greeting little green frog framed against his log. Breathing in the Light. Infused by all too brief moments of swamp maple’s fierce fiery splendor.

Chloe’s Shadow by Sara Wright

Gently nibbling seed
a bear bird’s
hind legs
charcoaled nose
glimpsed
through
shade fogged
windows…
Imagining…
Standing
where you just stood
matter is
frozen light
yours
a golden circlet
emerald star
circling
above us all
a beacon of
Cosmic Light
I weave a
crown of grape leaves
round and
round crafting
Prayers
for body soul –
Your
Protection
and mine…
Standing in your Shadow
One.
Still, Earth’s Keening
keeps us
awake at night.

Witches in the Weeds by Sara Wright

There she is in flight,

a shooting star on fire.

There she spirals eyeless

her blue wind births chaos.

There she moans bitterly

churning up dark waters.

There she plows fiercely

heaving up mountains.

Her Datura pods explode,

broadcasting black seeds ..

Fire, Air, Earth and Water –

Old women stir the cauldron.

Shapeshifting into birds

they stalk fish in every marsh.

Black crowned night herons?

Owls with second sight?

Ah, these are the women with wings…

soaring through the night.

Listen to the reeds applauding.

Brown Cattails are humming.

Bitterns sing love songs to

Witches in the Weeds!

The Scarlet Runner Outside My Window by Sara Wright

I have grown scarlet runner beans ever since I can remember. I have heirloom seeds that I collect every fall to dry and store for the winter. During the last few years as the weather began to shift planting became tricky. The deer were also decimating my plants before they could produce seeds pods so eventually after sharing seeds with others, I gave up growing my own…

Last winter I had an opportunity to look at lichens, molds, and stones under a powerful microscope at the Mineral and Gem Museum (MGM) and since I had one old seed from many years past, I took it in along with some slime molds because I wanted to see the colors. To my utter shock when I opened the damp packet the seed had produced a big fat white root.