Lament For a Meadow
Sadness and gratitude for a vanishing field of dreams
My friend texted me this morning: 20 houses, Debbie. They’re going to build 20 houses in the meadow.
My heart contracted painfully. Then it seemed to plunge to my toes.
Twenty houses in the meadow. How could it be?
It’s a beautiful, pristine meadow, but not a really large one. A sweeping glance can encompass it, end to end. There’s a narrow rim, like a ruffled collar of oak, maple, and beech trees along its farthest edge.
Tall grasses, wildflowers, songbirds, deer and rabbits are found there. A life- sustaining kingdom for the local flora and fauna. But at first glance to most humans, just a meadow.
But to me it has been a place of beauty and discovery. A haven of peace and inspiration. A destination for which, even after 40 years , I still feel a swelling of love and gratitude. And memories:
A herd of deer passing through a pocket of morning fog.
A kestrel hovering over the tangled grass, searching for its prey.
A flock of bluebirds flashing their brilliant wings on a winter’s morning.
Bobolinks balanced precariously on a slender grass stalk in May.
