There is a chill

In the pre-dawn air

The forest shrouded in mist

A silence is prevalent

The hills rolling in the distance

Like waves on a lake

Red pine grace the hills

As far as one’s eye can see

A golden light from the rising sun

Penetrates the mist

Nestled among the hills

The glimmering waters sparkle

In the morning glow

Of a beaver pond

Fed by a stream

From the surrounding hill

 

The earth shattering noise

Of diesel engines starting

Springing to life

Disrupts the peaceful forest

The smell of diesel fumes

Assaults one’s nostrils

Black smoke curling upwards

Through the misty trees

 

As the days go by

The land lays bare

Once tree covered hills

Lie naked to the sky

A lone pine here and there

Stands forlorn and bent

 

The once sheltered beaver pond

Vibrant with life, lying vulnerable

To the forces of nature

The stream chocked with debris

No shelter of protective trees

 

A frost covers the bared land

Sparkling with the morning light

Wisps of smoke rise

In the chilled air

From scattered piles

Of wood debris

An ancient forest once stood

Where the land lays bare

A forest no more