the chainsaw roars,
drowning out the cicadas
first a wedge to direct the fall,
then slowly, a long slice, until
CRACK
and the tree tilts, then tumbles
blue sky opens above
where there were grey leaves –
but the gap is still too small
the trunk is cut to foot-longs,
and everyone carries what they can,
stacking it for a future winter,
unimaginable in this heat
until just the canopy remains,
to be dragged
and tossed into the trailer
to be taken far from the house
the children climb on top
burrowing amongst the leaves
laughing and shoving
as they jolt along the track
we smile,
but the smoke haze hangs
like fear in the air
This was written last summer, when we had months of heat and smoke haze, and were extending our firebreak while listening to bushfire updates on ABC radio. We took down a few more trees today, reducing canopy connection close to the house, which reminded me of last season and this poem.
Nice imagery. We used to cut 5 cords a summer from dead wood. Funny how familiar from so far.
Thanks. 🙂
I don’t like having to cut down trees, but we’re on over 250Ac of mostly uncleared bush with only one way out.
Oh, I get it! Please don’t read judgement. I only pointed out ‘dead’ trees because they are easier to fell and some are handily horizontal already. You have a tough and important job to do where you live. I am right with on staying safe. Please do.😊
I didn’t read judgement 🙂 I just always feel bad about cutting down trees. Mostly it feels safer out here than in a city, especially in a pandemic.
😊