Ode to Peter on Our 15^th Anniversary

Grunts of satisfaction.

Ah, another weed uprooted from the wilderness.

I didn’t have to get behind the wheel, jaws clenched,

to find this tranquil place

where birds call out and breezes waft between big leaf maples.

I walked here with my husband.

Like a father unmindful of his child’s growth,

he needs a pal to remind him

of the great, natural beauty

a small band of volunteers have re-established

in this corner of Earth we call the Madrona Woods.

With primal tugs,

I wrench out invasive ivy

and pat warm mulch

about the base of a fern

as I watch him propel up steep slopes

too treacherous for his comrades.

A tall, strapping form in boots,

hefting gear,

he could pass for a Marine.

Only I know.

He is tucking his tender little ones in for the night.

Gently watering the redwood sorrel and elderberry

he planted a few months ago.

Yes indeed, these woods are cared for.

Unlike the tangled bramble

where the Ted Bundy’s of my youth

tossed the corpses of their prey

and flesh turned to dust before anyone noticed.

Here the carbon cycle fulfills its greatest calling.

Fallen trees slowly become nurse logs

for the next generation.

By the time our grandchildren are grown

the tree downed by last winter’s storm

will be rich new soil.

I did not achieve world peace today.

But I had a fresh glimpse of the man I married,

liberated some ferns,

and felt the good Earth in my hands.

Roberta Riley 2007