A Piece of Casper Mountain
Gravel crunches beneath our feet.
With plenty of grass, bushes,
a cool mountain summer breeze,
the forest smells of pine
under a blue Wyoming sky.
In the distance, a chain saw shatters the silence.
Is someone clear-cutting or chopping firewood?
As we walk towards camp, the saw stops.
Moments later, a wood-filled truck passes.
Has enough of the forest been taken for one day?
This poem appears in the 2017 summer issue of The Avocet. Click below to hear me read it.