gone

they’re cutting down trees
today
hundred year old firs
and hemlocks

the steady buzz of the saw
annoys
upsets
dismays me
like the constant drone of a bee
persistent
never ending

trees that have stood here for years
reduced to a pile of rounds
pierced open scent in the air
an empty space
where once stood
a presence
majestic
it’s boughs almost touching the ground
swaying
bouncing in the wind
gone

why –
so the tree won’t fall
on your house?
the house that was built long
after the tree stood there?

why --
so it won’t fall
on the telephone wires?
we can live without a few hours of power

and what if the tree wouldn’t have fallen?
what if it stood for another hundred years
long after you and I were gone
what if it stood for generations yet to come
for our children
and their children
to look up at
and marvel at its height
and the fact that it could live longer
than any of us.

but it’s too late.
it’s gone.