Old Man's Beard

OLD MAN'S BEARD BRACELET

Granted Ski Patrol permission

Sammie says she wants to take a run

through Sniper, which means

through trees, deep snow,

and out of bounds, merging

with a trail back to groomed slopes.

She pulls up under a cluster

of fir trees rich with Old Man's Beard.

As she stretches to reach

hanging pale grayish-green lichens

growing like leafless tassels

anchored on bark, I reach

for the camera. Bad things happen

when you bring out the camera,

Sammie says, and the camera's

running when the snow boarder

comes from nowhere

interrupting our solitude

and is taken out by a broken limb.

I told you, Grandpa. Bad things happen.

"What'd I hit?"

This broken limb. Head and neck.

Declining assistance,

he says he's ok, but he's not too sure either.

Sammie hands me handfuls

of the treasured fungus

for my parka pocket,

Usnea, the scientist's name,

our story for starting fires

if we get stranded in woods

and we ski out of Sniper

having seen what it can do.

Back at camp, in the mothership,

Sammie puts catsup and mustard

in snow, while cooking

on the portable grill. The mothership

warm. When she comes in

she says, Grandpa, close your eyes.

When I've been cleared to look

she's placed a woven fungus bracelet

over my wrist, restoring me

to a more natural state of wonder.

Jim Bodeen

10 March 2017