How Thick is the Green
(A tribute to Edith G. Read Wildlife Sanctuary, Written on Indigenous People’s Day)
By Alison Cupp Relyea
How thick is the green on either side
Of the path of pebbles and dirt
For humans to walk, passing safely
The deer leaping over the tangle
The rabbits scurrying under
We walk alongside
And marvel at the twists and the turns
Of branches and leaves and vines
Flecks of yellow and white
Wildflowers, petals, nearly lost
In a green so thick
I can almost hear it breathing
How rhythmic is the water
Lapping the sandy shore
Coming forth and receding
The pendulum of nature
Our earliest lessons in science
We learned the structure of water
Two hydrogen, one oxygen
But knowing the pieces
Doesn’t mean we can build it
To replace what’s already lost
The rhythm of water so soothing
Its easy to forget what we’ve done
How cool is the breeze
Moving across the water’s surface
Shivering the green leaves
A gentle sweep through stray hair
A caress like a hand stroking my cheek
A reminder of the air we breathe
Oxygen, carbon dioxide, dust
Invisible, life-sustaining compounds
So taken for granted, this air
The exchange between plants and animals
Carried off by the cool, cool breeze
An overlooked miracle of biology
How sturdy is the wood
Planks form boardwalks through the thick green
Carrying us over the wetlands
So the water and roots can do their thing
And we can do ours
With sneakers still mostly dry
The wood cut from trees
Shipped from somewhere, not these trees
Sanded and measured, cut into 2 by 4s
Rings and knots still visible
These sturdy wood planks under our feet
Were once part of their own green
How flawed are the humans
Who look at all this with fear and frustration
The bamboo, the wineberries, we call them invasive
But who brought them here?
I pluck the slightly sticky ripened wineberries
Wondering if they know they are unwanted
The deer and the ticks, mosquitos and black flies
Never asked us to encroach on their space
Even the lantern fly, its signature red speckled wings
Smashed dead on the wood path
It’s the flawed humans, traveling the world
Carrying creatures away that never asked to leave
How brilliant is the imagination
In a space of green, water, breezes, and wood
With creatures and plants, indigenous and invasive
I sense what life was like before
On a drive many years ago
With a toddler sleeping in a carseat
Passing the Shinnecock Nation on Montauk Highway
I asked my husband if he ever dreamed of life long ago
He answered with a list of all that was missing
Antibiotics, cars, planes, phones
Yet using my imagination in these brilliant woods
I wonder if maybe, just maybe, they had everything