The mountains
do not remember
asking the forests
to shelter birds
with silent tongues
and wings of bark.
CB 2008
I wrote this short poem whilst on board the conservation yacht, The Breaksea Girl. A group of us were fortunate to spend six days and nights in and around Doubtful and Dusky Sounds in Western Fiordland, a protected, once-pristine area of black water, red kelp, primordial forest, 'vanishing' waterfalls and - until quite recently - a cacophony of birdsong. Sadly, predators - cats, rats and stoats - have resulted in a severely diminished bird population and significant damage to the forest floor; this in turn has led to the canopy thinning which implies potentially dramatic long-term changes to the ecology in the area. We were shocked and saddened to witness firsthand what felt like the loud absence of birds. . .
For more Tuesday Poems, please click on the quill.
This week's editor is Helen Heath with Bookcase Full Of Closed Books Wants To Sing
by Joan Fleming
