Find your tribe in a Sea of Creativity
I start with parks,
Unassuming grassy expanses
Rimmed with palms, perhaps
With a pond or playground
I graduate to preserves
Larger ponds, sometimes with
Geese, always with ducks
I walk along its paved paths
Or rocky byways, but I
Run into the road
The sounds of cars inescapable
Beyond the quacks and honks
And rustling of untrimmed mesquites
I try a "hike", more of a
Stroll through the stones of a
Great, holey hill
I lose track of my impromptu
Guides, so I take the easy route
It leads to he canal, another
Reminder of man's hubris in the
Desert biome I now call home
I was born to a land of true wilds,
Of old growth forests protected by
Fences, yes, but standing proud, uncut
I was born to hills, and creeks, and
Bushes bursting with black berries,
Counting the stars on a clear night,
Camping in the back yard,
Craning our necks to watch deer
And woodpeckers working
To hear bats screech under the new moon
I sit on a plastic bench, molded like wood
I watch men fish at stocked ponds,
I hope the sounds of motorcycles
Doesn't scare their catch,
But these creatures are likely as
Trained to the sounds as the grackles
Are to rooting through trash
I pray that the little natures around me
Remain un-golfed, and undeveloped
That the canal can yet give rest to cormorants,
That the bougainvilleas can shelter the sparrows,
That what little respect my new home has
For its many gifts can yet be preserved,
For the sake of the hikers, the birds,
The saguaros, even the God-given rocks
I pray for all of these things with my one
Little soul, with all the nature within,
Though futile my tiny words may be
To the unrelenting force of mankind's
Unending greed and craving for more,
More, more