the Great Fire, and us

climate disaster: whose fault?

three years ago, 

havoc roared across these forested slopes,

our childish whims drove us 

to feel our desires should be indulged,

every fossil fuel-driven toy bought, and used,

our vehicles using and wasting 

the accumulated power in the ground,

so that we can drive faster, further, easier,

so that we can make things for ourselves

that we don’t need, 

but, like an only child,

we can be spoiled by our parents,

we don’t want to hear “no,”

we don’t want to share,

at the same time, it is hard to comprehend

that the forgiving vastness of our planet

can be touched by our actions,

I have flown over the immensity of the Pacific Ocean,

and I “get” how dwarfed such a scale can make me feel,

conversely, I can still feel center of the universe,

and unnoticed as to the consequences of my actions,

surely, there is a God out there, who is in charge,

it was His will 

which decided which houses burned, 

which didn’t,

I disagree, 

I feel culpable, 

a part of the species 

which allowed disastrous climate change,

which allowed the drought and wind storm,

and took a small fire, kindled by willful adolescents,

to rage over these mountains,

a great beech, just up the valley,

succumbed to the winds, 

and the corpse of its falling

succumbed to the Great Fire,

many branches of rhododendron, and hemlock,

were easy for me to break clear today,

these three years have been enough for them to diminish,

the fungi feed, and fruit,

new flora feel their turn to seek the sky,

I feel the loss of what was,

I feel the lack of surety as to what will be.

by Henry H. Walker

November 30, ‘19