Rob S. Friedman
May 2024
In a Better Place
In a memorial forest not far from the Pacific cliffs, redwoods tower, shielding a creek that in winter nearly mutes the sound of wind moving through the trees.
Our guide walks easily among these trees, comfortable on the paths she knows well. She looks back but not to chide or spur us. “Listen,” she says, “and you’ll hear them speaking:”
“More people,” one sighs, “here to find their tree, their anchor to the future without them, their ash to be spread with dirt at our trunk, their voices transcribed into polished brass.
Soon their own senselessness will press against a future where they cannot see the buck standing tall and strong alone on the ridge, or the ferns that grow from the mossy ground.”
Rob S. Friedman 