Felled

Nov 28 2015

The road

badly overgrown.

Trailing vines, like trip-wires

branches lash my eyes.

I bulldoze through,

stumbling

on weathered rocks

camouflaged with dirt,

gnarled roots

that knuckle-up from earth.

Weeds colonize openings

trees compete for light.

And in the cool gloom of the forest floor

opportunistic plants

plant their flags;

wild flowers

papering the ground like confetti

after the victory parade.

When it became impassable

we abandoned the road

and the forest took it back.

How nature encroaches

on the works of man,

our conceits are subsumed in soil.

Leaving nothing

to tell of us.

Except a few scattered stumps

level as table-tops,

felled trees

crumbling into rot.

Where new growth

sprouts from their trunks,

black ants

scurry in long sinuous columns.

Claim as their own

a no-man's-land

of waterlogged bark

shattered heartwood.

I share a very long driveway with 3 neighbours. It's technically their land, and I depend on an easement for access. I bought this place about 17 years ago, but only just now learned that my predecessor here had gone to great expense to build his own road on his own land. Did he dislike being dependent on others? Or did he simply have a walking- and ski-trail in mind?

Not only did I never know this, I've never seen any residue of this abandoned road. So I plan to explore, and see what -- if any -- evidence is left. In the meantime, I let my imagination have free reign, and came up with this poem.

I like the density of exuberant first growth. I like bulldoze, which calls back kind of ironically to the forgotten builders. I like the martial theme: our "war" on nature , that nature won. And I like the final line, shattered heartwood: I can hear the echo of "broken heart", and with it a quality of rueful remembrance and pained regret.

Inexorable nature vs. the hubris of man: hardly a new theme for me. And conveniently depicted by ants: who, like the proverbial cockroach, will probably inherit the earth. This is also the point of view I'm most partial to: microcosm and close observation; directing my gaze to the smallest of things.

I chose Felled as the title because it's an unusual word; especially when read alone, without context. I like a cryptic title: it invites the reader in, if only to find out what's up. And I think it directs the emphasis of the poem to the ending, which is just where it should go: to the tiny world of ants, the rotting heartwood.