Walk In A Woodland Park

We brave the beasts on our intrepid flight
from electronic torment;
across asphalt moats
infested with hydrocarbon-belching technosaurs of steel
guided by demented prisoners of progress.
My constant companion of unfailing heart
and purest motive
and me,
finding our way through
the thick and acrid haze of incompletely
combusted petrochemicals,
illuminated by radiation
of unholy origin,
permeating a manufactured jungle
inhabited by beings
at once numbed and maddened
by stimulation far-exceeding the
critical threshold of their
natural
design.
And we maintain our pace against
the din of the racing monsters.
And we arrive, unscathed, at our
sancti sanctorum
where we are free to wander among mobile and fixed things of
natural origin and
holy design.
We are strong here, on these 70-odd acres
where only the residues of madness intrude;
and he can sniff
and I can mark our territory,
uninterrupted by the perverse
agents of propriety,
observed only by
The Great Spirit ( who has seen fit to protect this beleaguered refuge ).
A nightly pilgrimage;
we come here for strength and healing.
It is here that my psyche,
chafed raw
by the particles of progress
propelled by
the winds of prosperity
emanating from the uncontrolled
economic chain-reaction of
unenlightened enterprise,
is allowed to heal:
It is here that our spirits are
exposed to soothing forces:
It is here that my mind is
allowed to deny.
We revel in our ersatz wilderness,
drinking-in its intoxicating illusions
and realities;
drawing strength from its order,
as the great black dog communes with the woods,
and I with the earth.
Platinum moon overhead ( we never got there!), shining on granite boulders on
glacially-sculpted hills;
Trees casting intricate shadows across our path;
Leaves rustling in the breeze and crunching underfoot.
We will dally here until we are strong again;
We will keep coming back here until we can
permanently escape to
an unsoiled corner of the planet;
where we can avoid the fate of those who will be trapped in the excrement
of progress,
as bacteria are trapped in the
alcoholic broth
of their most fruitful ventures.