They were herded, corralled, and driven westward and northward
to barren lands to live in squalor. Out of sight, out of mind.
Paradoxically, the herders, corrallers, and drivers were all immigrants who came without invitation to pillage and plunder wantonly and without consciences. 400 years later and they are still at it-- Building walls, and blocking all who would dare to seek freedom.
A lovely description of a mighty tree spanning hundreds of years, watching the landscape below change and people come and go. In this case, lamenting the departure of spiritual, forest loving indigenous people who filled the valley with their laughter and song, long gone and now replaced by dirty and noisy bright lighted establishments never giving any peace and quiet anymore to a tree that remembers it well.
When I lived in West Virginia, I often took walks up on the mountain behind our property. When I came to our property fence that was rusted and nearly gone, I would cross over into the estate of a multimillionaire, but far from the property's buildings, unseen in the woods, a valley away. The way was steep and difficult with brush and briars. But the reward was a huge oak tree surrounded by huge branches that had fallen off over the years, but still there and still majestic. Like you, in your poem, I dreamed of what that tree had seen.
I lived there only three years. But during that time, construction came through for Highway 48, to Interstate specs, a broad swath of the valley below became highway with only the very high, now very narrow, strip of land that the oak occupied. And there was a new, very fine, fence outlining the right-of-way that was now part of the highway land. I'm sure that the multimillionaire owner got a pretty penny from the state or federal government for that property. Unable to climb over that fence, I was unable to sit under that tree and contemplate its long life any more.
Your words had me tearing up! Too sad! Greed! All done in greed and it is such a sad story! My people were Vikings, came here, and left. My heart breaks for your people! (and then we KNOW what's going on again!)
"sometimes too long lived both men and trees " until technology brought both of them to their knees. I beautiful poem that brings ache to my heart when I think of how it could have been. Thank you for sharing. xo
Like a folk ballad. Beautifully versed, Belle. "weary of the changes"... Seems all of us eventually reach that place. Enjoyed. Thank you for sharing. r
The drug called "The Shari" has been used for vision quests over many years. But, when all the rivers start drying up, the tribe must send a young hunter named Tomás on a much more important trip through the Amazon.
The drug called "The Shari" has been used for vision quests over many years. But, when all the rivers start drying up, the tribe must send a young hunter named Tomás on a much more important trip through the Amazon.
The drug called "The Shari" has been used for vision quests over many years. But, when all the rivers start drying up, the tribe must send a young hunter named Tomás on a much more important trip through the Amazon.
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to barren lands to live in squalor. Out of sight, out of mind.
Paradoxically, the herders, corrallers, and drivers were all immigrants who came without invitation to pillage and plunder wantonly and without consciences. 400 years later and they are still at it-- Building walls, and blocking all who would dare to seek freedom.
When I lived in West Virginia, I often took walks up on the mountain behind our property. When I came to our property fence that was rusted and nearly gone, I would cross over into the estate of a multimillionaire, but far from the property's buildings, unseen in the woods, a valley away. The way was steep and difficult with brush and briars. But the reward was a huge oak tree surrounded by huge branches that had fallen off over the years, but still there and still majestic. Like you, in your poem, I dreamed of what that tree had seen.
I lived there only three years. But during that time, construction came through for Highway 48, to Interstate specs, a broad swath of the valley below became highway with only the very high, now very narrow, strip of land that the oak occupied. And there was a new, very fine, fence outlining the right-of-way that was now part of the highway land. I'm sure that the multimillionaire owner got a pretty penny from the state or federal government for that property. Unable to climb over that fence, I was unable to sit under that tree and contemplate its long life any more.
Ron
Love ya!
Jane