A Storm in the Mountains

In 1847, a storm in the mountains

looks the same as it would now,

a comforting thought when the world

is falling apart around us,

splintering like wood suddenly split,

yet it's decades of growth that

brought us to this moment.

How many trees fall

to unforeseeable catastrophe

each year?

To grow too prosperous is dangerous,

yet we choose so often

to limit limitations on such

growth in ourselves and still wonder

why eventually we must fall.

Nothing survives forever

at the top of the mountain,

but how much damage will come

to those below

as these futile efforts

fall?