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Vertical to horizontal.

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A small redheaded woodpecker darts

overhead, zig-zagging across to perch

on the edge of the clear cut.

He squawks and talks and swears at them

like I do, complaining loudly

to the thieves of the forest.

And I wonder, do birds know sorrow?

There was still a man with a chainsaw working all week-end, when I had longed for quiet and a break from the logging.  In a little over a week he has felled his way clear across the valley down below my neighbor’s, and is cutting the maples and fir below “my” land today. 

I vow not to stay down there this time, it breaks my heart too much, but I have also promised to stand by the trees through all of this.  You do not leave your comrades in the middle of a war. 

Startled once again as the trees come down, I yell and swear at the logger, drowned out by the chainsaw and the ever-present droning of the machines.  I feel such anger, and ultimately, such powerlessness to make it stop.  Then the tears come and I am so deeply saddened by this continual loss of loved ones.

I pray to the trees, lying down below, leaving this valley forever.  A century tree came down today, as I was walking down my path nearby.  I prayed during the cutting, I wept when it fell.  Huge old maples shattered as they hit the ground, and the man with the chainsaw moved on, to the next one, as if they meant nothing. 

I say “Namaste” to each one as they come down and know they mean everything.

And where do the deer go now... 

...when the earth is mangled beyond recognition?

The gazebo before...

...and now.

Remembering the trees in happier times.