I grieve the loss
of the riverine forest,
the alders Nature bestowed
after the great flood.
Yesterday they were cut down,
turned into firewood,
victims of the canker disease
sweeping the globe’s northern tier.
This morning I mourn their passing,
slowly survey my changed domain
and discover that in this loss
I have cause to rejoice.
Now I see the creek stretch
from above the bridge
to more than a mile downstream,
trimmed by young sycamores left standing.
On a snag high on the far bank
a bald eagle overlooks his kingdom
and air swishes freely through the new space
to cool my flushed face.
About the Author: Patricia Wellingham-Jones
Patricia Wellingham-Jones is a widely published former psychology researcher and writer/editor. She has a special interest in healing writing, with poems recently in The Widow’s Handbook (Kent State University Press). Chapbooks include Don’t Turn Away: poems about breast cancer, End-Cycle: poems about caregiving, Apple Blossoms at Eye Level, Voices on the Land and Hormone Stew.