In Which Destruction Looms Complete

My love for beetles may not quite exceed
The love of Haldane's god for them, but might
Were they not also party to a deed
That haunts me with ill dreams in darkest night:
My fav'rite place on earth is dying fast.
Unlogged, unburnt (that part's our fault), it serves
Now as a beetle banquet. In the past
The trees stood green and tall, now -- this unnerves
Me vastly; red and dead, awaiting fire,
E'en as the barkies thrive, twig beetles join
The party. They'll kill off the rest entire;
Then fire will finish. We have now no coin
With which to bargain. Ah, my Snowy Range.
We have destroyed what we tried not to change.

In Which I Take My Last Road Trip Over The Range

The road will likely close soon for the year,

Wyoming 130 across the Range

Called Snowy, and it will do so, I fear

Before I may return to it. So strange

Today to see the aspens' hues in gold

And snow accumulated on the ground.

This last trip's memories will have to hold

Me till next spring. I rolled my windows down

Despite the cold, to let in those last smells

For my and Molly's pleasure, let my eyes

Go all unshaded, killed the radio. Spells

Of purest bliss would take me. Such good-byes

Are for all of the senses. But hellos

Await me, too, ahead, in winter's snows.