Ancient Mother,
Standing tall and proud,
In ages past, you rose above
The churning cauldron of Earth
And grew to stately size.

Though you were naked
For years after your birth,
Nature slowly began to clothe you
In garments in the richest shades
Of brown and green.

For centuries,
You blossomed
And life around you flourished.
Birds and insects nurtured your soul,
And mammals nestled against your breasts.

But then came men
Who tore away your emerald attire
To erect factories and homes,
Make fires for warmth,
And build for themselves a better life.

Although the wind and rain
Now erode your body fair,
And your form
Has begun to wash toward the sea,
You still stand with your head held high.

It makes me sad to realize
That we have failed to think
Of the damage that we do
And the havoc we wreak

All in the name of progress.

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Why Did I Write This?

These thoughts were written in June, 1997, but were first conceived in 1995, during trips to the Northwest Coast of the United States and the provinces of Alberta and British Columbia, where I observed acres and acres of barren mountainsides. This is not meant to be an indictment of the lumber industry, but of each of us who have carelessly used our resources... and we are all guilty... to a greater or lesser degree.

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