Old-Growth

July 6 2012

8 centuries

spared from fire

human greed.

Old-growth

in this dark cool cathedral

of massive trees.

Towering over

an ancient forest

of dark understory, complex soil

that teems 
with invisible life.

In dignified silence

this giant cedar survived

empire, wild fire

dire cold;

but now, barely grows,

its core

most likely rotten

cleansing little carbon

from over-heated air.

And in a stiff wind

may well have toppled

and snagged,

or crashed

through shattered branches,

returning to its soil.

So, have I romanticized this tree?

Did it serve, in any way

or just a monument to age?

There is beauty, for its own sake,

and we all knew

it was beautiful.

Immensely large,

gnarled bark, scarred with age

over-arching shade.

But most of all

it made us small.

Late to this place,

insignificant actors

in an intricate play

we barely understand

or acknowledge.

Only now, I think of this.

Because yesterday

it was felled, and carted away,

vandalized

under cover of dark.

This defenceless tree,

unthinkably long-lived

and regally indifferent

to man’s petty conceits.

A venal end

for such a venerable thing.

You can buy shakes and shingles

cheap.

But all our ingenuity

will never reproduce

an ancient tree,

an extravagance

beyond our means.

Time

which is not for sale.

And hardly the patience to wait.