The Climax Forest

Some malign force has clearly moved
relentlessly through the forest, of
recent days. A mini-hurricane sweeping
trees imperiously from their secure footing,
uprooting great balls of earth, roots losing
the struggle to sustain their grip,
and stout trunks snapped under
a force too fierce to be resisted.

We pick our way carefully. Under,
around and over the carnage,
wondering at nature's awe-full, swiftly
unexpected and sharp tendency to
temper tantrums, disarray in the wake
of her emissaries' hot, fierce breath.

The atmosphere is humid with
anarchic display, vaguely foreboding,
sinister, as though some mysterious
presence still lingers. A wide swath
of snapped spruce and birch, ground
littered with shattered limbs and
green, fragrant-needled branches.

Nearby, the mountain creek runs
cold and rampant, over mountain-
strewn boulders, unconcerned by the
maelstrom's devastation. A grey
jay flies from the mast of a jagged-top
pine. Something sadly malevolent is
occurring, an infestation, a viral agent.

Some deadly scourge is haunting
the forest's massive old pines, and the
adolescents as well, turning needles
orange and dry, diminishing their
future aspirations, leaving the
forest with sad, yawning gaps. A
doleful, double stroke of misery.