Walking in forests
under the canopies
of ancient trees
who have seen the best
and worst for centuries.
Who have felt drought
and flood, windstorms
and grave-cold days.
Treetops that have
tumbled, short roots
turned up like tangled
brown-haired elves,
laughing faces one direction,
evil snarl the other.
Red and green havens
climbed by bears,
clear cut by man,
trucked horizontal as human
corpses, sawn into boards
to make homes for the intruders
after original occupants
lost theirs, despite the hugs
from some who feared the future.
I lay my head down
on cool green moss
to speak my intention.
To do the small beneficial acts of kindness
I can control.
To support those who
fight for our planet’s renewal.
Mostly, to do no harm.
—
Diane Funston has been published in journals including California Quarterly, F(r)iction, Still Points, and Lake Affect Magazine, among others. She lives in the agricultural Sacramento Valley of California with her husband and three rescue dogs. She replaced her lawn with a sustainable urban farm. Diane was Poet-in-Residence for Yuba-Sutter Arts for two years. She is the author of Over The Falls (Foothills Publishing, 2022).
