Judgment Day

A VIEW FROM BERKELEY SPRINGS

September 8, 2005—A Judgment Day

Out of the Labor Day Weekend emerged a path in the wood.
There must have once been sort
of a road there in that flat
cut across the slope. But the way
had become populated by weeds,
that damning word for the vines, maple sprouts, and grasses grown
over a trail. They had bushed up
waist-high almost a hedge-wall
that made the hundred-year old wagon track almost impassible.
Of course, the weeds must've felt entitlement. Their claim as right
as anything that my mind might
imagine as to what really matters
as grace would give our earth.

Yes, it runs the risk of hubris, of presumption or overweening pride, to slash out certain plants,
to select others for nurture. Yet that's exactly at the heart of stewardship,
and why else are we here?
In particular, isn't that why this 4.4 acre plot came under my hands, under our care?

		For my heart can't bear to watch the non-native, invasive grapevine,
the honeysuckle, and multiflora rose choke the trunks,
	guzzle the scarce water, and blanket off the sunlight from the heaven-bound branches of the old red and white oaks, the two remaining pines, the memory of elms. These vines yield no wine, no honey fragrance, no garden of roses.	.
		.