A couple years ago I found a quiet
clearing - perfect for a few days of
camping. A small stream nearby, the
lodgepoles healthy and tall, stillness
broken only by trembling aspen leaves,
the burble of a nearby stream.
It felt like a safe place.
I hoped to return, often.
Now, the trees that remain, damaged
and charred, feel threatening. No longer
sheltering, the stillness disturbs.
The sense of welcome, of safety,