‘An Ye Harm None.’

The Ancient Trees © 2022 Lee Anne Morgan

Days of Destruction

September 2022


5 a.m.

Isn’t this what I want, what I love?

Quiet, cool.

Dawn waits off stage to make her entrance.

Autumn’s first winds carry God’s messengers whispering secrets.


6 a.m.

Destruction arrives.

Deafening noise: bulldozers hollow out the landscape; jackhammers crush stone; chainsaws slaughter healthy pines.

Each cut into the pines and gouge of fertile land carve pain into my heart.

I hear the pines scream, their final gasps for breath.

They lay like amputated warriors on a battlefield. Once grand and noble, now stumps.

Millions of tiny beings live in the pines. No longer. Their existence is no more.

Heartless, indifferent people fill their pockets for ill-gotten profits and beer.


Workers use shameless language.

My windows are shuttered to nature and fresh air.

Birds no longer sing. A lone bird starts her song and stops.

She chokes and dies. Fumes kill.


Jackhammers shatter windows and vibrate apartment walls.

Returning from chemo, a cancer patient can’t enter her home. Entrance blocked.

Management cares not.

Wildlife sequesters in secret places, losing their home and their peace.

And I lose mine.



Why destroy the land for crumbling sidewalks no one uses, I ask?

Because they say.

I inquire whether pressure-treated wood and carpenters were considered rather than three construction crews.

Wildlife stays. Survives.

Our peace, too.

Never heard of that, they say.


They dishonor those who ask questions, spitting arrogant, angry responses.

We are three years old —in their eyes.

We are old without wisdom—in their eyes.

Three Graves © 2022 Lee Anne Morgan

2 p.m.

Weariness transports me into another realm of existence.

The Stories of Mystic Isle, the book I write, waits for me, as do the primary characters I live with daily. I sketch them with more depth and definition in words and voice; they are constant companions.

Abigail and Esme. Kate and Issa. Timothy and Pastor Sam. Emma and Sarah.

The creatures, too, inspire my world with hope:  Sophia, Hank, and Midnight who perform magic in the ancient, fertile pine forest.

Rebirth is constant. Peace prevails — on Mystic Isle.

Elsewhere, too, I hope.

Girl In Graveyard © 2022 Lee Anne Morgan

Impermanence reigns, and this episode in our lives, plus destructive events in others’, will pass and emerge into something new. Hopefully, it will be better. Today’s world offers no guarantee of “better,” but hope and faith endure in the human spirit.

‘An ye harm none. Do what ye will.

What ye send forth comes back to thee,

so ever mind the Rule of Three.’

~ Excerpted from The Wiccan Rede

Thank you for visiting me.

Blessed Be.