Holding The Wild Holding Me
Exploring the Intersection of Nature, Respect, and Courage
The wild ones come to me.
I ask (the universe) for animal companionship and receive sightings of the habitat’s evolutionary representatives.
Ambassadors of creative untamed biodiversity.
The reason I ask for the beasties, to the wind, is that these are challenging times
and I long to
speak silently
holding soft fur
beholding shimmering colors
in the low winter sun.
The local crows break the silence of my writing and gather in rows on power lines. Watching in clusters on cottonwoods and cone-shaped conifers.
As if to say, we are here too.
I muse on their acrobatic comradery and return to my words.
Tired of my wooden box and too warm from the woodstove heat, I press my body into moving outside.
It is there I encounter the wild ones.
***
The wild is an initiation. I walk with gratitude and respect.
The bears are sleeping, it is the canines I begin to see.
I’ve become used to passing the packs of ranch dogs, who are gentle once you get beyond their suspicions.
By now they respond to my voice immediately. I know enough to keep space between.
Measuring distance with my senses.
When I sit outside at night seeking depth of darkness and the creative spark of cosmos, I hear coyote calls ring through the valley.
Sometimes they sound so close and so unimaginably wild, as if their calls stir a wind at my feet. I press my back into the cabin door, marking steps to safety between breaths.
Knowing I will know what to do “just in case” comforts me enough to relax back into a meditation on the moment.
Needing the fresh night air to wrap me in wonder more than the security of indoors.
Being in the mystery requires sacrifice.
So, I stay. Becoming listeningness
On occasion, wolves howl farther away, across the river tributary. I picture them leaping from perches on rocky cliffs.
Gathering. Confidently following instinct with eyes well tuned to the landscape.
Feeling the primal nature of the valley pressed against the sleeping domesticity.
I long for these late times when the clock beating is matching the hearts sleeping.
Except those of us nocturnal and waiting for the sounds of night to reveal what cannot be seen.
It is quite the chorus. My eyes adjust and I settle in the awareness. Alert and relaxed.
Coyotes yipping. Dogs barking. Wolves howling. Silent paws of big cats clawing.
Tricksters. Companions. Guardians.
Untamed Power. Radical Inclusivity.
All things belong in this web.
The night carries secrets and more.
A student of the sounds vibrating in this spinning mandala.
When I sleep, cougars, puma, track me. More curious than threatening.
They hold the peripheral space. Languid bodies embodying soft power.
I am a mistress of dreams and darkness.
***
On another day not long before this one, a coyote and I crossed paths.
Noticing the other walking between rock and water.
We both stop a moment, watching.
Taking steps backward. It takes a few forward, away from yet watching me intently.
Curious and cautious.
I decide I’m not afraid, moving my feet a touch closer.
Coyote knows, turns towards me. Face to face, we stare.
Who will make the next move. I do, backwards again.
I will not break the agreed upon barrier we hold together.
Don’t test fate, I feel my bones remind me.
Don’t be rude, wildlife requires and deserve space.
Yet we take more and more each day with our human ways.
I enter a modified moonwalk, sliding on the snowy road.
Each crunch of my footsteps saliant to this creature.
There’s no fooling this set of sensory perception in these conditions.
Every motion echoes through the canyon.
Following my lead, we both retreat.
***
Wandering the riparian woodland under a rising snow moon.
Aching for alone time with the fluid silence.
Beside a semi-frozen creek, I made my way uphill to a waterfall pool.
Against the wall of stone and ice, I saw a flash within the trees.
A streak of pale fur alive in darkening dusk.
What I saw was a canine. Rural dogs do walk themselves, but this was not that.
I called out… Hello? The hush of the wild answered back.
I stood in place, searching landscape and memory.
What was that? Coyote? It was much bigger. I think. These things occur quickly.
I did spot fairly very large prints down the FSR. Doubtful it’s cougar even though I saw one on the road here once. I study animals prints frequently.
Wolf. Could be. A mystery. Definitely.
Owl creek winds down from a chain of lakes in high country. Moose, Grizzly, Wolf are residents in these mountains. I’ve walked their tracks.
Checking in. I’m not afraid. My stomach an oasis. I scan again then again. Both, my surroundings and inner knowing. All good. I reach into my walking fanny pack.
One of the bigger dangers out in the wilds is our own psychology.
Thinking “it will never happen to me” is a slippery slope. Reminded to remain alert and be prepared. I push my toque away from my ears and take short deep breaths.
I smell nothing but winter woods and fading light dancing on the icy water.
Tuning into my surroundings allows me to notice differences.
While feeling mostly safe, unconvinced I am totally secure. I wait.
It’s important to not turn my back and rush back down the gravel road. It’s a literal slippery slope of ice.
Think strong, act strong. Be prepared and stay calm.
I don’t move to follow it out of respect and basic safety.
Pulling out my high pitch whistle and small pocketknife. Pretty lame defense. It’s basically a letter opener.
What calms me is knowing it was going the other way, or at least it did once it saw me. It doesn’t trust humans and I’m cultivating my trust in intuition as guide in the wilderness. Sorting past emotions to use fear as information and maintain a regulated response. Panic is the real threat to survival.
***
As I’ve pushed my bravery (re: willingness) to press on, when my intuition communicates it’s fine, I have been rewarded with enchanting animal sightings.
It has not happened overnight, guiding my nervous system with tools and awareness, has taken years to return to the courage I felt as a child (often with an adult nearby).
And to go beyond because in the wilds I feel strong and free. The elated child and the devoted elder.
Once again in my walled cocoon I read about animal symbolism and facts from trusted sources. This is how I soothe my mind-body-spirit hungry for information, meaning and magic. I read and then write from experience.
A dance of awareness and being. Wisdom and knowledge intersecting. Respect and gratitude merging. I study images in searches and habits of these members of our local habitat. I am the visitor and review best practices.
For a place, this coastal mountain valley, brimming with wild nature, it is the least I can do if I’m going to claim being a steward. This is my love in action.
What does Stewardship mean to you? I’d love to hear it.
With Gratitude,
N<>N
***
Please consider learning about your local habitat and creating personal change to foster a resilient future for our animal-bird-fish-insect friends who cannot advocate for themselves. Donating to land trusts and other non-profits as well as supporting conscious companies. This newsletter is my art activism. Be the Ripple. Spread Love.
Last month I joined a local non-profit, Stewardship Pemberton Society, as a Board Director and am preparing a local Earth Week Event. I feel grateful to live in a village in the coastal mountains with frequent animal encounters. British Columbia is one of the most biodiverse places on earth, teeming with wildlife and endless backcountry. Giving back to what has given me so much is an intention I am devoted to.
To this newsletter I bring my translations of these wild experiences combined with my love activism through art, poetry and story. If you’ve read this far you are a rock star and I am grateful for you too. When we witness this beautiful earth and each other’s experiences - this is what creates a truly rich life.
Mystic Peaks Studio acknowledges with great respect that we live and work on the traditional territories of the Lil̓wat7úl (Lil’wat) Nation and the St'át'imc Nation.
We offer our work in gratitude to the one song of the wild. www.mysticpeaks.com
All writing, art, images copyright Nichola Napora 2025. Portrait credit: Tiffany Stark.