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March Look yonder at the clear glassed thickened pond with it's smooth polished like silverware finish cleared by March's frosted winds Ah March the end of winters glow that leaves upon our already winterized bodies a last blast of rememberance for the coming months Days of ice cold mornings; sunny afternoons that trick you into forgetting winter Then a sudden plunge back to frigid evenings to remind you once again to remember it's clutching grip For a few days there could be no sunny days warmth to fool you, just a bitter cold blustering wind seeking out an open space anywhere on a crevice of your body March a much talked about in like a lion, out like a lamb, a vice versa month that not always keeps it's promise but keeps us on our toes thinking about it Winters grip is however slipping away as daylight extends our need for a sense of normalcy, shifting our gears forward on a race towards our thoughts of spring So bring it on lion or lamb and we will take it Our dreams are now of our May long weekends where theres open water fishing For some there are dreams of BBQs in a snowless backyard and much spring cleaning for others It's our happy time weekend when May alows us to accept the 'new' surroundings that lay bare once again for our use March you month of trick or treat, we are ready for you next year as well but also we will forget you just fine for eleven months There is so much we can do now that you have unclutched your grip; letting us go on to new adventures. See you next year baby! " Hear the noises " The big beautiful black spruce tree sat in it's harboured; nutrient rich environment for forty three years now Untouched except for the thousands of birds that made their nests in it's sheltering open arms Untouched except for the seasons that helped nurture and feed it's thirsty roots to help propel it's sturdy growth Chipmunks and squirrels gathered it's cones for their winters harvest Bears clawed at it's bark for ants and numerous species of bugs that the tree had hidden for their delectable dinner Moose nibbled at it's needles when a fierce winter had little fodder but the trees minimal supply Being very far back in the forest the big beautiful black spruce languished in it's haven Supplying comfort, food and protection to an abundant species of wild animals took a tremendous effort on the tree to survive, along with the harsh winters Survival is the name of the game with all natures creatures, plants, trees, lakes, streams, rivers, valleys and on and on All these things we accept for granted for our personal use and pleasure Forty three years in a peaceful environment," Until the noises " got closer and closer As the animals hid and watched, in less then a minute the big beautiful black spruce was no more Cut - Stripped - Grappled and Stacked amongst it's fellow friends the tree lay ' Raped ' for transport A lone stump, amputated, bare and left stranded deep in the forest was all that remained of the big beautiful black spruce Later as the birds stood on the smaller trees that had survived, there was not a twitter, no bears would be clawing for a morsel of a meal, no moose would nibble on the branches for a bit of nourishment on a hungry winters eve No more would a nest be built and protected by the big trees branches Drawn down to the sawmill, that once, ' big beautiful black spruce ' was quickly cut into a harvest of lumber Given no respect that the animals and Mother Nature had once adorned upon it the life of the tree was extinguished Other trees would grow but for how long? Not forty three years ever again Only time will tell how long before they would, " Hear the noises " By Lorne Larocque |
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