Urges to create and protect, to respond to both human and natural creativity may always be opposed in some ways. Imagination and resolve may allow us to enjoy some measure of both.
My Two Forests
From a favorite corner my eye wanders
Along fir-framed white walls
Across floors wide-planked and strong
Traces intersection of wood, ceiling, window
An interior forest soothes my senses
I walk in parks or up a mountain trail Feel strength of high-stretching firs Crowded and nourished in dense, low growth I pause, awed, invited, included In rich bounty, natural and sustaining
I cherish the pleasure of wood in artistic form
Knowing too the need for forests preserved Life feels unsustainable with either removed
So I savor my inside forest incompletely Part of me always outside, keeping watch
Very sensitive view of nature. Recycling old wood has become a major construction industry and I really appreciate that. However, people, and particularly very rich people, continue to seek out exotic and ancient wood to adorn their estates in increasing numbers. Taking irreplaceable wood for personal gratification is causing havoc in distant forests never touched before.
I just listened to a soundtrack of a forest in Costa Rica in 1969. The jungle resounded in loud cacophony of vital life. That area has been selectively logged to preserve the forest but reap the best wood. A current soundtrack of the same forest no longer has that loud, raucous sound. It now has only the subdued sounds of distant birds calling and the silence of ecological extinction.
Interesting and presented in such a unique manner. Your "inside forest," Charlie, is a first rate way to explain that trees have been cut down and planed down to whatever is needed to make "wide-planked and strong" flooring for your "inside forest."
David Hightower’s lyrically expansive meditation on the whims of fate and the unpredictability of the human condition fill the pages of THE HANGING MAN DREAMS with thrilling music and mesmerizing imagery. Hightower’s richly infused voice echoes the e
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I just listened to a soundtrack of a forest in Costa Rica in 1969. The jungle resounded in loud cacophony of vital life. That area has been selectively logged to preserve the forest but reap the best wood. A current soundtrack of the same forest no longer has that loud, raucous sound. It now has only the subdued sounds of distant birds calling and the silence of ecological extinction.
Ron