And so…

And so…

For the time being

We meander

Following the lie of the land

In appreciation of the topography

We are each a part of the landscape

Trees line the way

Wide enough for three cars

A couple of trucks carry frozen stuff

To the supermarket on the corner

Nobody really notices anymore

How the trees have been pruned

To form an arch

Triumphal in its aspect

Heavy traffic is a procession

With no praise given

Even if Caesar was to hold up his hand

Nothing would stop

Progress is not for turning

If the trees carry disease

One by one they will fall

Heavy winds will dislodge them

There will be casualties

Wildlife can’t avoid them

Conscious of their need for protection

The canopies are a cacophony

Of avian propaganda

Arboreal surgeons are given the bird

What sort of job title is that

When they chop trees

But never saw bones

Or only very rarely