~
Standing at the concrete bridge
just at the entrance to the L-Line
I scan the clear-cut of two years ago.
New maples stretch to the sky and
ferns fan out like a forest compass
each direction, devastation.
I close my eyes to the horror and feel my brow
scrunch. A lifetime of memory spills like the creek below
passing me by, cloudy and swirling.
It is really progress to ends so many lives?
Each stump I pass seems to call out
in a weak wavering voice, asking my why.
I rub my fingers along the chainsaw tracks
shaking my head as I cannot answer.
When my father used to return from work
smelling of sawdust and
gear oil, I relished those scents.
Today, in the face of a forest in ruin,
my nostrils flare against the stench.
And yet, even in my anger and dismay
new growth brushes my pant legs
and I see where the planters have come through with
***** and ***
giving baby firs a new home.  /