Changing Aspirations

Ghosts in a New England forest

Changing Aspirations

I feel you there, behind me, as I walk
through these, what used to be your, forests.
Who are you- whose footsteps echo mine today, what eyes
look inquisitively at my comings and goings?
You are a young man, I feel your aspirations-
burning like the fire of the leaves this time of year.
This land, ancient Appalachian construct,
with the feel of being tended for tens of centuries
by a hand other than the Creator.
Very true, I know, that it in fact was. But who were you?

Were you a tender of trees, perhaps?
We know so much more of  Egyptian Pharoahs than
the former denizens of our own back yards,
but now realize that these forests were your fertile groves,
managed with the care of geneticists- lost wisdom of the lives
of chestnut, oak, hickory, beech- fuel enough
to sustain a body through 5 months of lean. New England be not gentle.
Do trees possibly have ghosts too, I wonder…
for if I stop and look with the inner eye, I can almost see
a 300 foot silhouette of pine grace an empty space in the sky.

Were you a settler, perchance, driven by a dream;
Set eyes on the plantations here in the 16th century-
the ones that sustained the sylvan shepherds until the plague
killed them almost to the last man. For there was trade…
just no settlers then.. by the time they came, the founders gone.
Leaving only mystery, and the settlers  had a difficult time
for that reason. Are you perhaps an early European,
hunger gnawing at your belly and your loins,
no satiation for either in that barren place?
Are you perhaps even my ancestor, watching me?

Or were you a revolutionary, drawn up in the fight-
for freedom, to be something other than a vassal of the state.
A man, an individualist, with a voice to reckon with?
The sense of self, perhaps borrowed from the remnants of
the League of Five Nations, honed by Jefferson’s skilled hand
to define our lives today, and so many ‘round the globe.
Could you have connected today, I wonder… this cynical time
Where straw polls hang dreams, and visions die slow deaths in red tape.
So easy to rile hatred to rally against, but so difficult to convince
that there are still things worth believing in, and fighting for.

Walk beside me a while, if you would- I want to remember
things that could have been, had history been more kind.
These trees, faded echoes of former grandeur under talented care.
Gone the chestnut, the elm; going the beech, hemlock, maple, dogwood.
The soils change as the rhizomes die, and the canopy is 1/3 its former height,
a result of changing subterranean balances.
Likewise, the roots of my generation seem malnourished, stunted-
Few will walk with me, putting hand to hickory bark or listening
to maple’s lifeblood flowing with ear pressed against trunk.
Would you share with me?

Our aspirations change, but the drives remain unchanged, I think.
What could I learn from you today?
Take my hand and lead me through your world, let me step back to your time;
show me why I was born in this era of sadness and slow decay,
of what I love so much, here. Show me why I feel your echoes
when I pass those caves, what secrets can I not yet see?
Did you test the seed for a better crop of acorns there, less bitter?
or shelter from a spring downpour while plowing?
or did you plan a skirmish on redcoats in hushed tones by lantern light?

What can you teach me today of the courage of trees to persevere,
in this timeless place of long-held dreams and worthy goals?







 

Author's Note

inspired by a walk near a series of caves on the state forest land behind my property recently. I could hear footsteps behind me in the afternoon sun, and started to wonder who was there with me.

Reviews

[Desert Dreamer]

So much to learn from our ancestors and the trees as well. Beautiful writing that makes me long to walk in these places where the spirits speak, and to do what I can to protect our remaining wild places as they decline and die due to man-made changes of the earth.

[Through the Gateway]

There are many places on this Earth where time seems almost not to exist. Places where the echoes of those who have come before us are as present as our own footfalls in the leaves. Indeed...what could these shades teach us about a world they knew as rich and growing, now rapidly disappearing as they, themselves, did?

This is a well-written and reflective piece, Marie. We should all learn to lay our hands upon the barks of our sylvan friends and feel the rhythm of their life forces before they fade into the same stillness as the shades that tended to them.

Brilliant, Marie.

[cest la vie]

Who was there?
Why the spirits of long ago residents, that is who. You wrote this beautifully. So rich in detail and you had me taking the walk alongside you.
I have often wondered ,when I see something or am somewhere, who/what came here in this place before I?
Very nice piece here, Marie!!

[Jola]

beautiful metaphors and comparisons interesting style of writing .. good poem ...I like it
Greetings Jola