LETTERS: A STORY: FUTURE OF NATURAL AREAS

To the editor:

The following story is for those who grieve or feel outrage over the continuing uncontrolled destruction of natural areas in this region, and especially for those who don't:

The leaves of the hickory rustled in the first morning breeze. The breeze always reached the hickory first because it stretched 40 feet above the surrounding elm, beech, maple, persimmon and box elder. Two chattering squirrels played tax 'round and 'round its trunk taking turns being "it" as they chased one another's tails.

The first birds awakened by the dappled sunlight were the chickadees and wrens. Their twittering was soon joined by the clear whistle of the cardinals and the haunting melody of the mourning doves. As the morning light filled the woods, the blue jays and grackles woke up and added their raucous sounds to the swelling symphony.

The light and sounds of morning were signals to the raccoon that his night's foraging was over. He'd had a successful night because the humans on the street nearby always put out special food for him on Thursday nights, nicely packaged in large plastic bags.

The fox watched her kits wrestling in the grass of a nearby field. The doe checked on her fawn, still bedded down in the remains of a farmhouse foundation, and then slipped off to snatch a few apples from a tree down the hill. She returned to your young one, who by now was awake and hungry.

Suddenly, her body tensed, her head raised and her ears pointed up as she heard the sound of a chain saw. She stayed perfectly still to avoid being detected by the source of the menacing sound. Then, following the whine of the chain saw, came the roar of earthmoving equipment. She quickly nudged her fawn, giving yelping warning signals. They hurried down the hill to the creek away from the unfamiliar, fast-approaching noises. They followed the creek to the nearest safe haven along with the other animals. The blue jays remained the longest, exclaiming with vigor that they weren't about to take this lying down.

Later, as the last of the sun's rays bathed the bare earth, the machinery whined to a halt. Then there was silence.

HELEN M. HAYS

Cape Girardeau