Torn ground ripped from the hillside,
bulldozers carving away ridges and
massive trucks departing with the earth!
Heavy machinery rumbles
to make a platform, terraces, trenches,
foundations; water pipes and sewer lines inlaid;
structure and framework, electricity, plumbing,
roofs, walls, doors and windows
for another hundred Californians to own.
But in the rain, the hillside bleeds
muddy rivulets of erosion, decay,
without wild oats, poppies, or golden mustard,
with live oaks destroyed and mesquite mangled,
monkshood wasted, primroses unblooming.
No coyotes singing or rabbits shyly hopping,
no ground squirrels or rattlesnakes,
no occasional opposum picking its way through brush.
No more blazing butterflies or scrub bluejays,
mockingbirds or red-tailed hawks soaring high,
and grimly, the candelabra yuccas succumb.
All nature raped for man's convenience and profit.
If we build over all of California's wild places,
why would anyone want to live here?