Listening to Old Logs

I sit on old logs slowly becoming soul to nourish future generations.

“Don’t grieve for us we will be here long after your passing, “they say to me

“The dinosaurs were here

They transformed into birds and flew away”

“What will become of me and my children? ” I asked clinging towards a future unknown.

“Best left unsaid,” they say the wind caressing me with a breeze.

I cry resigned to my short-lived species still praying for my civilization

I love to fly in steel birds and see humans of every color living and working in harmony.

When they argue when they fight I tremble feeling their agony while fearing for the human race.

Stop racing covid says stay in place

I am in place now Australian summer fast approaching. Will there be droughts and fires or deluge and floods?

I sit and wait in this strange place that feels like home.

A gentle breeze soothes my fears

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