Mourning Friends

I drive by the old park
hand weakly covering my dropped mouth.
“Watch the road,”
a voice reminds.

What remains at the park,
bleached, corpse white
in the first morning light
under rain-remnant clouds

Are piles of tangled legs and arms,
hair falling around brother bodies,
trunks crisscrossed, crucified,
bunched unceremoniously, disrespectfully,

A holocaust of trees destroyed
for bandstands and parking lots.
Earth ripped and ravaged
and left to dry.

My lunch time friends,
homes to countless, now gone -
disturbed, disturbing,
making way for entertainment and economy.

Mt Trashmore

I come to the mountain to renew my soul.
This mountain was once a heap of trash.
I come to the trees to feel my pulse.
These trees are short and thinly rooted.
I come to the water to be purified.
This water is toxic runoff.
I look to the birds for freedom’s song.
These birds squawk, tied to this geography.
I seek wholeness and connection in Nature.
This fractured manufactured landscape
leaves me wanting for more.


I cannot be in the Smokies.
I cannot touch the Hemlocks.
I cannot drink mountain springs.
I cannot glimpse the eagle.

I am here in Coastal Virginia.
I am here in the corporate job.
I am here with a mortgage.
I am here.

So I come to Mount Trashmore in Virgina Beach,
Hoping for some reflection of the glorious Sun
In the hill that covers years of refuse
And offers a kiter wind,
And is host to coastal birds, fighting for a scrap
And sings of highway noises,
And skateboarders fly
While snow geese gather
On their way to southern streams.

Hemlocks' Retreat

Written at Fires Creek park, Oct 10, 2008
Intuitive writing.
Kimberly

This forrest feels sad. Or is it me that feels sad here?

I touch the Hemlocks and ask them what is going on.

20, 40, maybe even 60 years ago, the Hemlocks were called back. Their life energy is needed back in their ancestral home, deep inside Mother. Slowly they answer the call, reluctantly, but surely.

The reasons are unclear to them. Change, making way, restoring balance, transition time. They gently, slowly pull their blood away from limbs and retreat into roots. From roots to dirt. The Commander has sounded the retreat, and retreat they must. The time is nearing, their retreat is hastened.

They are moving camp to the underground facilities. The "Weather Mountain" of the Southern Appalachians.

The Inner Earth dwellers are aware of this movement of life force and are assisting. They help build barracks and bunkers, storing C-rats from the tree's nectar. They are quite busy and we on the surface are quite oblivious.

There will be passageways open for the Mountain People as the time nears. They will be able to continue their known lifestyle, with similar plant medicine. The Hemlocks will be Tsuga interniensis. The sacred peoples will be moving to safer lands. Not another relocation march, but a re-emergence into a safer world, for a time. This is where some of the people will go.

The Hemlock blood is also being used to prepare remedies for clean-up. The tree's experience with disease will build an antidote that will be made available as time approaches. The great giants of the mountains are indeed in service still.

Mountains and forest and cetaceans will hold the peace frequency as fear and change roar around us. The trees ask that we do the same: meditate, join with fellow travelers envisioning a peaceful new world. Find online groups and rejuvenate your ground by being in Nature often. Join with the tall people, the finned-ones, the winged-ones and the underground-ones to bring God's eternal peace and infinite abundance to this blessed planet.