when, as now, the city leans too close –
all cloying constructs, relentless cement
send to me a comfort of simple pine,
send to me an endurance of wind-bent cedar,
give to me the remoteness of ridgelines
and a full solace of placid tarns
what Muir meant made blazingly clear
with each leaden municipal minute
wildness is a necessity
© Sarah Whiteley
ebbtide 