He Tells Us

Backpack straining under the weight
of forest litter from other people's
careless disposal, he strides easily
through the woods, a gentle giant
shod in 20-League boots, venturing
where most would never think to go,
eyes alert to the damning detritus
of a city population's endless waste.

His raspy voice booms as he greets
us, his huge form leaning against the
landscape. We speak of impending
fall, late by the calendar this year,
the incipient colour changes, shortened
days, and the oddness of the heated
humidity of this mid-September day.

His smiles, hearty guffaws, good
natured persona simply complement
his frequent forays to retrieve from a
burdened arras: armchairs, broken
bicycles, lawn ornaments, vehicle tires;
hoisting them and hauling them on his
back out of the precincts of the woody
green neighbourhood ravine.

We do tell him how much it is that
we admire his tenacity and endurance,
his struggle with the plight of an urban
forest. He grins, tells us the forest pays
tribute to his efforts, releasing to him
the many edible mushrooms his curiosity
and his omniverous palate enjoys.