When the last tree is cut down, the last fish caught, and the last stream poisoned, you will realize that you cannot eat money. — Cree Indians
All scenes above from Oregon
W hen
in the spring of my life
I called to the wilderness
to the forests
to the rivers
to the lakes
and later
to the mountains
and to the high cliff’d
remote ocean shores
they always answered
they came to know me well
as my friends
they welcomed me eagerly
invigorating my spirit
soothing my mind
warming my soul
they shared their beauty
and their bounty
generously with me
the wilderness became
the blood of my life
Oregon Coast
now
in the winter of my days
they no longer
seem to know me
they do not seem
as welcoming
not as welcoming
to wander and roam
to hike
to camp
to fish
to just be
in their embrace
drinking of their energy
awed by their magic
this change of relationdhip
it saddens me greatly
Oregon Black Tail — doe
but it is I
who have spoiled the connection
the deep friendship
that is to say
my age
and failing health
have made me too awkward
too uncomfortable
too absent
to my wilderness
I’m no longer recognizable
my face
my eyes
my stature
my gait
all different
I have changed so
now a feeble stranger
bent and slow
3 Sisters Mts. — Central Oregon
I still love my forests
my mountains
my rivers and lakes
my high cliff’d
ocean shores
I do not blame
any of them
it is not their fault
we are estranged
it is definitely I
who changed
someday
I will return again
carried by my son
to be forever joined
with this wilderness I love
please love her too
*
rob kistner © 2023
More poetry at: dVerse