I sit in my yard and feel bad. Its gone. My pops tore everything out to plant fruit trees. The ground is covered in wood chips. The soil is locked under. My yard is gone. The dill that the lil yellow bird flock would go into, the purple flowers that the huitzli and giant bees would favor, the zinnias that the butterflies liked, the poppies that the honey bees would leapfrog collecting pollen, the seedlings from the squash seeds, the tongue of the coatl rising from the soil, the cempohuali that glowed fluorescent bright. Everything is gone. The orange moths that would chase the white moths out. The swallowtails laying eggs on the dill tips. The finches have no soil to scratch searching for whatever it was that they were looking for anymore. Everything that once lived in my yard is now removed. The life I once offered to my community is now gone. The home I once offered, the nourishment I once provided, the refuge I once maintained for the migrating birds and insects. They came like refugees in search of an oasis from the urban landscape. Where do they go now? What am I offering now? I feel as if I'm missing a part of me. I feel bad.
Perhaps it is time to develop a relationship with trees.