|small healthy pond (Photo credit: gval.net)|
I have another poem to share with you. I wrote this one after watching the scenery on my drive to work change dramatically over the course of a decade. Along both sides of the very scenic route 133 I could see wetlands with dead trees growing in and around newly formed ponds.
Where once we'd had vernal pools (spring time water accumulations that fostered tadpoles, salamanders and other amphibious life) we had a new growth of trees that, before reaching full maturity, were literally drowned by the rising waters. What had caused the change in seasonal water levels, I thought? I spoke with others, asking whether they'd noticed the changes in our location. Few had.
I looked in other locations, farther from my commute, further north in Maine, and later further south, in Connecticut, and Delaware. I didn't see the stark failings of young trees. Our losses troubled me. I continued to wonder, and ask. And what I learned brought me to an understanding. I posed the issue in a poem.
And then one day, I saw a photograph taken by a young friend -- one that captured my poem perfectly. I'll offer it here:
|Picture credit: Owen Ricker, Georgetown, Massachusetts 2012|
Still pools filled with melted snow
The vernal pool became a pond
a standing death of nature,
mourned by man.