Spruce at Dawn

Spruce towers

over weeping hemlock

balsam and pine.

Pale peach clouds

paint the sky circling

 fringed spires.

Trees

our first cathedrals… 

Some still gather

under these boughs.

Her Voice 

is being Silenced.

The Spirit of

the Forest

 Departs…

 Slaughtered trees cry.

‘There’s nothing to be done.

One far –away day

 we will live again’.

Meanwhile,

Rapacious greed,

Indifference

eclipse the Numinous

as mighty machines roar.

The spruce sat in the center of the (unremarkable) picture I thought I took of blushing clouds. Peering at the photo I heard the trees’ lament – one spruce reaching for the stars spoke for them all – so many slain – fertile earth uprooted.

Once this Forest gifted me with a home; filled my life with meaning…I still find solace here, but the Soul of the Earth is weeping.

Acceptance is all that’s left I am told.

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