For a senseless death

We walked up where the pine trees grow, and the north wind blows, and the path runs down to a hidden house among poplar trees.

Among the pines was a cage, a trap not sprung. And in the long grass, like an empty beer can, a dead badger was slung, beauty in monochromes.

Humankind is cruel without measure, I know, and reason plays little part, but still I wondered what threat to pine trees a badger posed.

Sky blown blue
wind-fingers clenched squeeze the sun
from this landscape.