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Written by Susan McPeak
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Beyond the chorus of leaves, song of birds and chatter of chipmunks
I hear the hum of the highway.
Sometimes it blends indistinctly with the rushing of wind in the leaves.
Sometimes it stands out, reminding me this is but an oasis.
A horn off in the distance and the rumble of construction
are carried on the same wind that conducts the green chorus.
If my ears are to hear the mysterious whine of one high branch playing another,
I must also hear a plane, a chainsaw, a mower from across the river...
I wish I could quiet the machines and hear just the voice of the living,
but this is not an ancient age before the dominance of man,
or some hidden place a hundred miles from civilization.
This is 16 sacred acres a mile north of the freeway.
The trees do not refuse to grow because of the rumble of trucks.
The flowers do not hesitate to bloom even if no one looks.
They give their all, they live life as the full expression of their gifts.
They sing softly on regardless of how high we turn up the volume.
In quieter realms, I could find more woods to love and hear them better
but would they teach me to face the noise of my generation with my own simple song?
Who would be here to listen beneath the noise, to the music of this place, to celebrate its gifts and in so doing, to find their own?
June 24, 2004
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