In 2019, a forest caught fire in Sussex, England. This would not have made international headlines, except that the forest in question was Ashdown Forest, the real-life inspiration for Winnie the Pooh and Christopher Robin’s beloved Hundred Acre Wood. As the fire spread, dry-eyed forest rangers explained to reporters that the blaze and the little lives it took were no big deal, really, nothing to worry about.
From an ecological perspective, they were probably right. But I just kept thinking about all those little lives: the breathing, fleeing, terrified, heart-beating descendants of Rabbit, Piglet, and Roo. So I did what I often do when things are on my mind. I wrote a poem about it.
We are now entering the third year of a global pandemic—a worldwide conflagration that has already taken so many lives. Reading this poem now, I can’t help but hear echoes of the forest rangers’ impassive assessments in the daily spate of ableist comments from our nation’s leaders. They reassure us that everything is fine, that we don’t need to worry. That only the vulnerable will die.
Wildfire, Hundred Acre Wood
Tonight A. A. Milne’s beloved forest
is burning, tall flames overtaking
the very small animals, smoke choking
rabbits as they flee. No one knows
how it started, and no one
saw the owl emerge. Either he’s still in there
or he got away.
Tomorrow experts on the news will tell us
this is not a tragedy. All’s not lost, says one forest ranger,
indicating the destruction behind him. Within four weeks
we’ll have grass growing. In six months you probably won’t know
too much has gone on here.
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Image via Unsplash. You can read more about the fire here. A version of this poem was originally published in SIREN.