My friend, Kate, says "You sound sad," and I say "I am." After hanging up the phone I realize again that my friends are dying every day. I am sad.
It was quiet yesterday, but they are back at it again today, clear cutting some towering firs and many, many maples. They are almost downy in the winter, soft and thick from a distance, a blanket of light brown branches covering this side of the valley. They nestle all around such wonderfully tall, straight firs, rising above it all, sentries of the forest. They will be all gone by the end of next week.
I drive out to meet my poet friends for a rehearsal, practicing for our poetry/photography program coming in a month. There are many beautiful stands of trees along the way - I see them, falling. I am, indeed, sad.
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