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.



15 Comments on “Rewilding

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


  2. 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

  3. 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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