The World Forgotten

(On the vista from the highest point of the Anne Stokes Loop trail in Madame Sheri Forest of Chesterfield, NH; my most recent visit being May 2011)

I think that what I like most is that she stretches beyond everything and is inclusive of nearly nothing.

Nothing of man.

Nothing but his absence.

Nothing of my vain attempt to construct further beyond that which she already provides. Nothing of additive evidence to suggest the presence of mankind.

Just rolling waves of lush green leaves. –– Millions upon millions of leaves all fluttering in the chorus of breezes that flow from the sky and grace the lolling Earth with their breath.

The human race could cease to exist while I sit on these sun-soaked stones – and I would never know that I was all that remained.

That is how I should like to spend a part of each of my days. In unknowing outlast.

To leave the cities and the buildings with their ghastly metal frames and locks – to escape the noxious fumes and voices.

To disappear into the world forgotten.

She is still there. I will be her pilgrim, her visitor to break the solitude.

I would nearly dare to say she must be lonely.

The Wampanoag and the Algonquian and the Mahican no longer race over her mountain sides. Their silent feet and empty ears no longer roam her hills and streams.

I am sorry.

Sorry for that which I had no part in.

Yet, sorry, still the same.

Sorry that she has no one to cup her fragrant earth in one hand, to gather her flowering herbs, and to be so gentle as to apologize for taking the lives of her pets.

I am sorry.

I can offer my company only.

I will sit quietly with her and listen to her sorrow and her joy. I will trace out my life for her in moss and mud, express my empathy, and tell her my news. I will tell her how her estranged sister fares in the south. How even her sister’s children, the birds and deer, would not recognize her – it has been so long and the distance is so great.

And when she asks about the people – do they remember her? Will they come to visit as well? When she asks, I will hang my head and sadly tell her that I cannot answer for them. I can extend her question, her request, but I cannot promise they will listen. I cannot promise they will remember her name. I cannot promise that they will ask how she fares. I cannot promise that they will care.

(Camel's Hump October 2008)