Poetry — a poem of subtle ecology

                                                       THE WILD BLUEBERRY

 

Towering pines

clothe the slopes in

needles, shadows, moisture.

Squirrels play

in the branches.

An Indian

passes by,

leaving no mark.

Then a white man,

axe, rifle, frying pan,

comes to the hollow.

Trees come down,

sun falls to soil,

warming, enlivening the ground.

Grass grows,

birds come,

deer and fox.

A scraggly bush,

warmed by the sun,

shoots its thorny shoots

into the air.

Wild blueberries grow in the slashings.

 

Men brought deer to the hollow

by clearing trees;

man drove deer away

with bells and hounds.

The slopes of the hollow thrived

with blueberries.

 

Laws change.

In the 20’s

dad saw the return

of the deer,

who love the leaves

and twigs

of the blueberry.

Today,

deer graze the hollow

like cattle,

more plentiful than cattle.

“There may be a blueberry

bush or two

on the hill”

dad says.