Katy Z. Allen

Katy Z. AllenWayland, Massachusetts Yah is at my right hand, I shall not falter. Maltreatment, disregard, cruelty,abuse, defilement, contaminationdo not go unnoticed,by the corporeal or the incorporeal,whether inflicted uponan individual or a people,a species or an ecosystem,an atmosphere or a planet. Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord. Aftereffectsaftershockscontinuefor years, decades, generations,millennia. Truth springs up from the Earth; justice looks down from heaven. As an individual,I have lived the impact.Among too many peoples,I have seen the devastation. I call to You, my Rock, do not disregard us. Regarding countless speciesI have witnessed disappearance.For ecosystems large and small,I…

By Katy Z. AllenWayland, Massachusetts sitting by a streamenveloped in subtle autumn beautyfeeling solid ground beneathbreathing invisible life-giving airawareness awakens verdant summertime leavesconceal yellows and orangesredsmaroonsand complexity beyond measure introduced species small and largeexotic flora and faunasuppress more delicate autochthonesof many huessmall and largeand complexity beyond measure death, demolition and destructionhide and inflamegrief and feardespairdesolationand complexity beyond measure rising seas and rampaging wildfiresscreaming winds and persistent droughtovershadow and obliterate connectionto earthy soil and solid rockiron core of earthand complexity beyond measure sitting by a streamwatching beloved children at play quietlyunexpectedlytouching griefbeyond words   beyond comprehension      beyond endurance that simmers…

By Katy Z. AllenWayland, Massachusetts One October morning, the Merlin app on my phoneheardonly a single dark-eyed Junco.Nothing else. My earsheardcars and trucks on the road beside my house,distant heavy machinery, clanging and banging,and a chainsawnot far off.No birds. My imaginationheardthe trills and chatter of the woodland edgeduring the dawn course of spring–cedar waxings, red wing blackbirds,yellowthroats, rose-breasted grosbeaks,and more.So many birds. My imaginationheardthe silence of the woods and meadowspunctuated only by the murmuring wind in the trees,bird calls,animals scuttering in the litterand water tumbling in a rushing creek.Nothing more. My heartheardthe single Junco aching for the absent birdsand filled the…