Forest Runner

When I was almost ten,
I played at shepherding the forest.
Trees were my friends,
as were logs
fallen over fast streams.

I ran in the woods like a deer.

Wild flowers sent
an abundance of blossoms in spring
when the river ran
full and fast,
transparent as glass.

My shoes soaked through.

Now today I dream of those forests
that were never tame.
I was too young to know,
even less to name
all the things that go wrong
in a forest.

I saw our sawmill burn down,
but of forest fires
knew nothing beyond the haze;
knew naught of pests

and the dangers of over-cutting,
or the spotted owl
that still held out in this forest.
I remember snow,
and how it changed the landscape.

Time now discourages running
and I’m left to keep
to sidewalks, curbing and streets
lest I break a bone.

The forests I ran in are gone,
but I’m still alive;
in my mind, still running in forests.