Balancing
The truth is . . .
I feel the spirit of nature thinning
deep in my soul
the slender mongoose who used to run the paths on Monavale
no more
our bi-annual sighting of cobras hasn’t happened for a year and a half
our family of bush babies is reduced to two lonely males
the properties around us – that had been left to the wilderness
have been sold
the habitat that has been home to the wild things – who gifted us with their presence
is being halved
I write to the sound of chopping trees
piles of brick and sand appear along our road
this is the present we are being called to live alongside
this place just a fractal
reflecting our current relationship with our mother home
the truth carries with it a deep pain
aching cracks
like the fissured earth being fracked for the future
this hill, this magical place
the wildness that grew our children
already diminished
a different home for our grandchildren
who will know nothing other than this present
and old stories of ‘what used to be’
the truth is . . .
my spirit sometimes falters at the challenge before us
to keep the balance of the beauty of this present
this magic we are being called to bring forth
knowing of what is being lost
looking at the world through clear eyes