Ultimate Rot

A picture couldn’t do justice to  

Arctic wind’s ferocity 

blowing across the 

great lake thirty or forty m.p.h. 

white caps rushing toward shore 

water, trees, sand and leaves … 

combined 

Shhsssshing relentlessly,

my hoody inflated into 

a reverse parachute 

pushing my head and 

body backward.

Dots of rain prick

my face 

the occasional 

snow flake spirals by.

 I’m forced to retreat 

to calmer climes 

along the road where 

not so long ago it seemed

cold before cresting 

the hill at the shoreline 

to face Arctic wind’s 

ferocity.

I made my way up the hill to 23 

turned left onto the bike path for 

a mile or so, past

the alabaster pipeline.

I turned around, for no reason

walked back

the way I came to the end of 

the bike path at the top of

the hill. 

Descending the hill I heard

the SNAP CRACK! of dead firs

breaking like sticks 

the broken half still attached to the ground 

looking like a beast, patches of bleached wood where bark had fallen with jagged, pointed, dagger teeth an angry beast thrust up from the earth

pointed skyward

still attached to   

roots rotten and brittle below ground

the only force keeping  

the trees pointing skyward

with snarling fury 

the soul of each tree’s pent up frustration 

raging at nature’s forces  

finally allowed to express 

their furiosity at

the plague of beetles who caused their

demise, long gone now

off to greener pastures. 

The fir tree’s plaintive wails,

their pent up frustration,

their solitary ghost sounds 

their howls of pain

unheard

in their after lives they had become

ghost trees wailing 

at the wind!

their pain punctuated by 

SNAP! CRACK!! SNAP!! SNAP!!! CRACK!!!!!

the initial sound 

of ultimate 

rot …