The truck bumps along hillside after hillside of charred, scarred
and twisted trees in this ghastly fire-defeated forest.
Prickly stickery burrs
in the meager undergrowth
are caught between sharp rocks
and dry fractured mud.
As a soft-shelled creature requiring
the smooth sensuality
of common sense
to survive,
this hardscrabble landscape
is a horrible host offering
little promise
of even the
coarsest comfort.
Painful and itchy discontent
is slightly soothed
with the balm of hope
when we finally come upon
a madrone! A madrone
shrugging out of
a
binding red jacket
to rid itself
of fungi
and parasites.
The truth bumps along.
Jenny Lovewell
This article appears in ‘Breathing Room’.