Descendants / Ancestors

Kenneglen

What will they be like?

I fear the decisions we make today

Will lead to a rougher life

Than necessary

For them.

But then I see the grasses

The pink flowers swaying in the warm summer breeze

And I can imagine them looking

At their own grasses

Their own pink flowers

With the same patience,

Love,

And peace

That I feel.

The birdsong and the tall trees

I hope these do not fade away

Due to the poisonous choices

We make today.

The reeds, the leaves,

The stones by the creek,

These will last.

They may change, but they will last.

For if they don’t,

Is life worth living without them?

I seek these refuges,

And it is my responsibility to create and steward more

For them.

A thousand years in the future,

Along a creek.

The possibility of a crisscrossing network

Of vehicles

Cover the sky.

But not in this timeline.

Instead,

There are trees and stewarded creeks.

Along such a creek,

I sit and wonder:

What were they like?

What changed?

We’re told of the old ways

And the old, old ways.

So much of their choices

Were leading us all to ruin.

Was it the sweet taste of a berry

That made them change course?

Was it the sound of a bird in the distance?

Or the slight summer breeze

Slowly moving alongside a nearly-dry creek bed

Causing pink flowers and grasses to sway?

For thousands of years,

We’ve traveled down to this spot

To this creek

And marveled at the little things.

Even while the world outside

Threatened to eat it all up,

They decided to let it be.

Is that not the greatest gift to give?

To just let something be and enjoy its life and spirit,

Like a warm, fleeting zephyr.