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
Ken Bennison's Photography 