Dimensions of Environmental Hope

There have been myriad reports about impending environmental disasters throughout the world. There is reason to suspect these may well come about and certainly many have already occurred throughout the world. Making these even more significant is the renewal of spirit and soul that comes from spending time in pristine wilderness areas. Many of these undefiled regions have been destroyed and are quite irreplaceable. It has been my good fortune to bask in the wildness of the Amazon, on the frozen serenities of the President's Ice Field, among the spectral wonders of reef dwellers in the Bahamas. At the same time I have seen first hand what the wanton destruction of these regions can do to the human spirit. Sharing this anguish with others might be the smallest possible step to the preservation of natural sanctuaries yet unspoiled; a bit of hope for the future.

Off the coast of California is a vast forest unseen to the teeming millions living on the nearby land mass. Just below the surface immense stands of kelp shelter a vast world of diverse ocean life. "Ocean" describes what it is like to silently glide through these kelp forest swimming with schools of shimmering motion. Whale song gives haunting melody to the experience.

My best buddy recently moved to Tennessee and could hardly wait to take me to a forest he had discovered but three weeks previously. When we arrived we unpacked the car and headed off into the forest provisioned with a fine lunch. A couple hundred yards into the forest we were shocked to discover clear cut horrors. "Blasphemy" reveals what it did to me to see this fabulous place desecrated.

Atlanta with its exponential population growth often is host to environmental abuse. Driving through it one Sunday I witnessed the eradication of 125 acres of verdant forest ornamented in its spring finery. Where dogwood blooms once proclaimed spring, naked red clay now proclaim 'progress'. "Clear Cut" remembers a forest that is no more.

"Conservatory" is a requiem to a wondrous glass house in the Birmingham Botanical Gardens where one can gain refuge from the chill of late fall and winter. I have found one can also gain refuge there from the stark cold terror of terminal illness. It is also a place where one can make last memories.

The Capilano Forests in British Columbia in British Columbia capture the essence of what makes nature worth preserving at all costs. In such a place there is true healing, rest, peace, and wonderment. "Sentinel" describes my experience in a forest that has been saved because one individual hoped to make a difference.


Ocean

Unseen by those imprisoned on land,
fabulous forests cast merest shadows above.

Ascending towards crystalline surfaces,
sentinels from below seek solar inspiration.

With photosynthetic magic from heaven's gift,
they bring the miracle of life to the depths.

Schools of teeming silver motion swirl,
swimming choreographed dances of life.

In weightless realms of liquid emerald,
Garibaldi suitors spawn with iridescent frenzy.

Distant thunder muted by sapphire serenity,
whale song gives us haunting pause.

A cacophony of crashing waves unceasing,
hidden equanimity calms my stormy soul.

Eyes of hurricanes have no wind.


Clear Cut

Rested from winter's cool slumber,
solar fusion thaws your soul.

Feathered choirs sing spring's arrival,
waking you to glorious celebrations.

Stellar warmth awakening photosynthetic magic,
dappled arboreal canopies shelter your denizens.

Bounteous spectral color storms erupt,
azaleas and dogwoods proclaiming life.

Furry friends frolicking on mossy beds,
squeal with delight in energetic exuberance.

Swallowtails, monarchs, blue morphos, dancing;
choreograph their floral metamorphosis.

A moment of unknowing stalls your heart,
waiting with dread uncertainty.

Yellow terror silences your song,
voracious caterpillars gnawing at your heart.

Earth's empyrean canopy is naked,
ripped free of its leafy garment.

Sentinels of time collapse,
pushed to their limits by progress.

Clouds of ash whitewashing heaven,
foundations of your past are incinerated.
Verdant carpets of emerald wilt in ignited glare,
giving way to terra firma's raw nakedness.

In eerie silence, desolation offers a quiet
requiem to life passed.

Forgive them, they know not what they do.


Sentinel

Short-lived are the affairs of men,
in mere decades they are lost to memory.

For but a season do we dash about,
strutting our imagined self-importance.

In warming spring, we claim immortality.
Chilling autumn brings mortal reality.

In your sacred forests is shelter;
promising safety from ravages of winter.

For centuries, you have been rooted,
withstanding onslaughts of uncounted years.

Quietly, you stand tall over us,
pointing to a Higher Way of life.

Quiet whispers of your arboreal canopy shout.
He Who was before the foundations of time is.

In Him, the sands need never fail.


Conservatory

Blustery winds of late fall bellow,
sending chills of coming winter.

Cool autumn sun floods crystal panes,
warming us with fusion's fervent fires.

Mitogenic magic mesmerizing me,
photosynthetic wonders proliferate.

Labors of love lifting leafy spirits,
I too rejoice in the Gardener's harvest.

Spectral outbursts from His glass nave
proclaim arboreal devotion to His care.

Resplendent Canopies of geometric marvels,
shelter me from the crucible of crisis.

In darkness Poinsettias gain their blooms.


Blasphemy

Arboreal catharsis soothing weary souls,
ancient sentinels connect us to our future.

Astral orb illuminating leafy portals,
forest denizens frolic in cool shadows.

Spellbound in your sacred transepts,
Numinous possibilities germinate.

Photosynthetic icons entrancing us,
tiny miracles offer grand Hopes.

Sphagnum carpets caress algetic feet,
giving gentle respite from life's pain.

Walking in silence, I offer apology,
knowing the sacrilege soon to come.

Blasphemous talons plunder the sanctuary,
making way for your serpentine horrors.

Your splintered heart surrenders,
a burnt offering to our rapacity.

Your equanimity awash in muddy rivulets,
my serenity mingles with your despair.

The logging road was not here last week,
when I came to meditate in your nave.