Wind scented with pine,
A sky illuminated by stars,
A black mirrored lake.

The wind sings shamelessly,
Exultant to be in its element.
It belongs here, in the wild.

Laughter echoes through the air,
As the stars enjoy the wind’s song
And relish another night together.

Tonight the lake stands still
As the wind sings its songs for
An audience of convivial stars.

Every night they hear terrible stories:
Humans bring in metal trees whose
Light obfuscates the majestic stars’.
They manufacture stark white lakes,
Unnaturally square and still as death.
Also constructed are rough black paths
Where well-worn dirt trails once were.
And a final symbol of dominance:
The aberrantly colossal dwellings
In place of the towering pines.

Tomorrow threatens immense loss,
At the hands of rebellious humans
Intent on subjugating the landscape,
Driving the wind to howl of sorrow
And the stars to veil themselves
In the harsh black of mourners.

Yet tonight the wind sings of life
And the stars laugh mirthfully
Above a black mirrored lake.