Steers that aren’t really steers sideways stare at us from between two big bowed branches of hollow bone. Crickets creak tree lines as steady as creeks creak creek bottoms. Sun sings sweat on shoulders with a sharp shiny soprano singing voice. Crows caw call us all back on our feet. Back backpacking miles repeat. And grass. Sweeps us off our feet with the subtle prayer of protein green. It is all made into a choir within me. A world of wild sound woven into harmony. The quilting consciousness that is humanity. Our mission. And it may yet prove to be enough just to sit and listen.