By Rebecca Drouilhet
Picayune, MS, USA
Sometimes I still dream of those two old oaks on my grandparent’s old farm. Lightning hit one of them first and then years later, the other. They seemed to be potent symbols of my grandparents, who, ending their last days, were also ending the era of noble peasants tending rural farms. In this era of asphalt and progress, multi-lane highways dominate the landscape. Who remembers a barn full of half-wild kittens or bottle-feeding an orphan calf?
new subdivision…
a bulldozer buries
the last of the violets
vanishing wilderness…
beneath the pale moon
a snowy owl takes wing
forgetting who we are…
the cry of wild things
fading into silence