they say, half curious with confused condescension
Well I never hear a phone all day
and I'm far from the rodent scurrying
vacuum of empty chatter
I'm out here with the real squirells
Quiet yes
peaceful no
The forest is a long silent war
the trees bear scars, deep frost cracks
twisted stumps and stems as they struggle for the light,
jockey for position
jostle for moisture
fight off beetles and
finally in spite of all this effort
drawn from the very soul of the soil
rooted in the strength of bedrock
die
are torn apart by woodpeckers
and legions of fungi
All illusions of peace
are just anthropomorphic mis-representations
Humans squeezing all life
into our own frantic time-frame
the only peace is balance
death with life
struggle with growth
but at least the phone never
rings
and the squirells never talk politics
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