The field at the end of my street
where cotton used to grow
where morning glories of purple and pink
bloomed in tangled profusion
where the autumn sun
burnished the treetops
where myriad insects would chorus
all summer long
is cleared
is being bulldozed
for houses
I will never again see the cotton
stretching out like snow
or the morning glories
rioting in the grass
the trees will be obscured
if they are allowed to remain
and the great insect choir
of quivering magic-sounds
is forever silenced
I cannot imagine how the field
is feeling
but I
am forlorn
Cotton from my lost field
lit bits and pieces 
There is a physical sense of loss I feel when I see a new section of forest or field being cleared for one thing or another. Yes, I know, all in the name of progress, but there’s an emptiness that comes with thinking on all that space had been, all of the life it supported whether or not we’ve been watching. And where does it go? And sometimes I drive past those new places and pause for a moment, remembering what used to be there.
I’m glad to see you were able to save some cotton. =))
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I will miss the openness and invitation of that field (I think you will understand the feeling). Definite sense of loss, of something indefinable. I am glad to have snuck that bit of left-behind cotton from the edge a few years ago; I was mesmerized by the rows and remembered my grandfather’s stories of picking cotton. The field for me symbolized something so old and valuable. And alive.
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Watching small pieces of what we know being gradually worn down, torn down, or bulldozed under is never pretty. A field for new houses in the name of progress? I wonder just how much this “progress” is costing our children and grandchildren.
Thank you for sharing this piece with us, and the piece of history you saved.
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I thought the same, about “progress.” And I mourn. Can’t help it…I will miss the field, the cotton, the openness and the peace.
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