Hazards Abound Around Here

How is summer for you?

I know there is a lot going on in the world that is not contained in this short missive. I (like you I imagine) am reflecting and considering and acting on the truth welling up in me.

And

I wrote the below poem because I love trees and I am open and questioning who, and what, and how, we are in relation to these sentient beings, that live and breath with us.

I read this to a friend the other day and she said you should send this to The Sun Magazine, it's a perspective I haven't thought of before and I bet it's true for others. I thought of you all first:

Hazards Abound Around Here

Big beauties.

Rooted and rising.

Sliced and diced

into rectangular planks

made into walls.

The wind doesn’t whistle or sing through anymore.

No Mass said,

or act of contrition,

or blessing the dead.

No goodbye, or thank you,

or we love you, or sorry.

And then because buildings don’t look like trees,

they are not considered tinder or fodder for fire.

Humm.

Only their relatives---still---

The living, the breathing out for us

to breathe in kind.

Only those are called into question

to be put on the chopping block.

This time.

Protection.

For the dead slabs that are their relatives.

The wooden houses need defensible space.

Wouldn’t you know.

War on the living to retain the dead.

It’s weird isn’t it?

What we’ll do to save us.

With care and oodles of love,

​Carol