Rewilding

Posted on May 4, 2018 by

15 Comments

She admires the trees, not knowing how young they are.

Gone are the old souls, but she doesn’t know that, the stories she’ll never hear.

She takes a leash off her dog, he runs in the clearing, the meadow once there has vanished and the grass in the park will never turn to a summer’s golden brown.

The pond is peaceful, always is, always will be.

Still, there’s an essence, buried deep in her face, a look of recognition, a wilderness imagined.

The dog runs up to her, flustered, happy, drooling.

She handles a phone.

Snaps a picture of him under young trees, places the leash back upon his neck.

 

 

Category: Poetry, PortraitsTags: , , , , , , , , ,

15 Comments on “Rewilding”

  3. Artificial nature for lip-service naturalists. Engineered apologies to Gaia. Brief freedom for nominal companions. Real words painting a real picture of subtle fictions.

    Like

  6. True Joan. Then I can’t help think that we are those youngsters. Note the sign in my pic, where the word “Rewilding” (On a government sign no less) is a made up “new” word. How can “we” rewild something without shaping it into what we want it to look like? Your comments are always perfect. Thanks again Joan.

    Liked by 2 people

  7. That brief glimpse, that moment of wildness before SNAP! it all falls apart. Or back together? When the old souls die, it is a loss to all of us, especially the young, who will never know how it used to be. 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

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