Every time I cry gunshots
or doorbells
ring out
across the sky.

When the horses disappeared I didn't realize
how much it would hurt.
Now I know.

Not this.

I walk out to the area
of proposed land
use
action. It is quiet
and calm at the deep blue twilight and fogged over snowy mountains loom above

the trees
don't seem to know there is danger looming
around the corner
just a harmless sign.

I wandered around
the land, the little out-buildings
of the old ranch.

I suppose they were once intrusions too, but now
they are embedded, blended and broken
down with the decay that blesses life.

I wander deeper onto the land to get a view
of the house and wonder
if they will knock it down
to make room for the new ones
--what a waste.

The side-stairs on the porch are still bright with the tree's life.
New, not weathered.
What a waste
of death.

My eye sees life
in a figure on the porch--
a large tabby sits on the top
stair staring somber
out across the field
alert not peaceful
like the day.
She feels the coming change and is starting to say
goodbye.

I watch her for a while until she looks up
noticing me.
She stares into my eyes from across the distance
knowingly
[refugees]

I turn to walk away and glimpse a quaint structure far below at the riverside. I walk down
to the lower field to look and can't see
anything but it reminds me. "Shoreline
development"
and I wonder how far they will go.

The horseshoe pits stand lonely together already
knowing of change.

I start walking up
the hill but am drawn down
to my knees.
My hands clutch the ground and I try
to cry. My whole body is filled
with tears but I can't release them.

I touch the ground with apologetic
fingers and stand and walk
past a stand of trees and turn
to them saying
"I will try."

The broken silence invites the chirping of birds in reply
and I cry at the thought of the nest
in the tree
being felled
in the spring.

I imagine tying myself
to it and I make a promise
to it: "I will try."

I walk away
and all I can think is No.
No
No No
No No
No
More
of this.
"I don't want
this!"

I slip back into
the woods and down the windy path, to where it meets the slope above the wild
green north
west middle
fork river.

More tears.

How many times has this place healed me with its surprising
wildness?
[If I turned around from the wooded river-ed land I could see into
the yards and houses of
Wood.
River.
but I don't.
]

Facing the sloping forest I am transported and healed by the sappy
tree that I like to hug when I need a big one.
I run to it and fall into its arms
and sob.

"What do I do?"
"What do I do?"

The tree holds me and lets me cry
[GUNSHOT!] and I
lay down.

I curl up pressing
my face against the mossy base,
and watch the river
change.