Shawn L. Bird

Pines and spruce tower

ninety feet into the air

a wall of green

a squirrel playground.

Broken by the last windstorm

Branches the size of adult legs snapped,

tangled,

blocking the road,

risking the roof.

With each roar of the chainsaw

years are cut away.

Now, we see the lights of town

glistening below.

Greenery sacrificed for urban beauty.

Our new view

comes with grief for the scent of spruce

in the waving wind.