Day 13
I stepped among the scrambled slash splayed across open ground where giant cranes and chippers
had munched on pine and fir and oak and ash; cut and dragged and stripped and loaded them,
leaving wide trails of branches long into the woods
like spokes from the central arboreal killing floor.
"Look at this view", the man said, sweeping his arm in an arc of wonder,
as if the tall trees just purged
from the forest were but interference, not the essence of this land.
Will someday a great cultural scythe hew blogs that tower and block the media mountains beyond?
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