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Forests are not for machines.

They’re for bicycle track, puppy dog paw and
lonely long distance runner sneaker prints.

They’re for green, brown and yellow moist smells.
that can’t be put into spray cans.

They’re for startling shrills, the shriek of crows,
comforting sounds, the rustle of leaves.

They’re for dancing on fallen logs and
making friends with a stream.

A motorcycle was stuck in the mud, putt-putting enough fumes
to pollute an ant hill.

Instead of asking if I could help, I said pensively,
“ Forests are not for machines.”

I think they’re not for humans either.

Washington D.C.
June 11, 1970