I saw the bones of the treewomyn today
As I climbed the mountain path
On the trail that rose from the canyon floor.
Spread there, they were no longer able to speak.
Fallen womyn, empty of voice or song,
They lay there still creators of new life.
Treewomyn bones fallen, decayed,
Under the mountain trails path.
They become nutrition for new trees
that spout from their fertile decay.
They lay over the mountain streams
And became the dam that held the water falls.
They lay opened with bellies wide
And giving, as womyn always seem to do.
Homes for creatures great and small,
Becoming soft and sawdust to nourish us all.