I used to drive by a small wood each day on my way home from work. It’s just west of the cemetery and east of the old train yard; a thick growth of leaf-bearing coniferous giants. I’d grown accustomed to seeing this plot of foliage, deep and mysterious with dense growths of bushes and grass. I’d often contemplated hiking into this small wood to explore and see what and seeing what wonders might be secreted away there.
I’d never done it.
You see, every day I now drive home from work past an empty dirt lot. Last week somebody cut down this little pocket of forest and plowed everything under. It must have only taken a day or two, because one day the woods were there, and the next they weren’t.
Like I said, I’d never gone into these woods. I have no fond memories of playing there as a child or anything else in this regard; however, just having those woods there—a small thicket in the middle of town—was something of a comfort. I felt like nature wasn’t all that far away. In fact, I enjoyed taking this route home because those woods gave me a feeling of reassurance. Strange to be saying something like that, isn’t it?
But the forest is gone…
I think I need to find a new route to work.