Selective Sight

by William Diamond

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Some days, I see the dying trees

 

The forest wavers fragile in the air

Cedars, lodgepole pines, a touch of aspens

Many more than nature’s norm are doomed

Some bark is gone, some branches bare

 

On those dying days, my soul will creak

Sensing disease and bugs will take them all

Climate will inflame, decay will be acute

And the woodland shifts to barren and bleak

 

Other days, I note the thriving trees

 

As they breathe life into the world, my spirits lift

I foresee the forest growing green and dense

As once again the timeless copse adapts

The world rebounds and renews its gift

 

Too often, I view life with this vision bipolar

Swinging between the grim and the bright

Accepting matters as beyond our control

As though we have no role to take actions sober

 

On the best days, I decide to act

 

To play a part, I grab the saw

To fell the dead and mount in stacks

Then plant healthy saplings in their place

So tomorrow's children can enjoy the awe