The Wisdom Teeth of the Planet

["If the current rate of deforestation continues,

80 to 90 % of the planet's rainforest will be gone

by 2020". Source: Rainforest Action Network]

I took the back way

into town today.

I love the winding road,
lined with forests,

no traffic,

passing by horses

and llamas

and the occasional cow.

Sometimes a mama deer

slips out between the trees

with her babies,

and they tentatively

poke alongside the road,

munching sweetgrass.

This morning,

delightfully,

I watched

a yearling bear

lolloping alongside

the roadway.

He looked askance at me,

trying to determine

exactly what

kind of animal

this noisy metal

blue thing was.

Then I rounded

a corner,

and there were

flag people

and trucks

and heavy lifters.

They were

clearing trees

from a substantial

stretch of land

along the roadway

and all the way back,

eliminating trails

horses, riders,

dogs and people

have enjoyed for

fifty years.

Trees were down,

their roots

sticking up,

bleeding

clumps of earth.

It looked as if

they came out

painfully,

relinquished

their hold

unwillingly,

had tried to

hold on.

It looked

as if

the yellow machines

were pulling

the wisdom teeth

of the planet,

along with

all its wisdom.

The status quo

is relentless.

Knock 'em down

rip 'em out

quick

while we

still can!

I had to pull over

to breathe

just breathe

before I could

go on.

Do they think

oxygen

will still

be here

when all the

trees

are gone?