Diminished Glory

 

Diminished glory, but glory

nevertheless, sun rising behind the hills 

on a deserted and shining shore,

waves doing what waves do and have done

eternally, the long, sandy stretch

between headlands and the Wickaninnish Inn,

from which tourists will soon flood out in droves,

leaving their $750 a night rooms

in their yellow rain gear to oh! and ah!

at this place I love so much.

I get to live here, on the margins,

like the skinny, hungry wolves and bears

that pad the edges of our village

in search of food. The bear has

an injured leg, struck by some too-fast

touring car, and left to hobble

until wildlife intervenes, one more

wild thing, snuffed out by
some rushing human,

oblivious to
the suffering being
he left behind.

But still, the heartlift, daily,

at sky, and sea and trees,

the beauty constant, even as

the village grows ever more cluttered

with condos and tourists and cars. I still

can find a forest trail,

commune with the Standing People,
breathe their deep peace.

I still can walk a wild shore,

my soul beating to the rhythm

of the tides.

One of the lucky ones, I live

immersed in nature's wonder
every day,
clinging tightly as a marsupial
to this place
and its endangered splendor.

Even as I watch the forests fall,
making way
under the human footprint's
heavy stride,

it's here, where I belong,
here where my grateful heart

and soul abide.

for Brendan at earthweal: THE ANTHROPOCENE SUBLIME, where he wants us to write of the diminished glory of the places where we live.