The wind is lazy. The leaves hold still in defiance. They won’t be nudged today. A quiet hush floats through the air, carrying with it the occasional caw of the odd bird. The earth takes a moment of silence for the trees, now ashes, that once were – the trees whose story lies in the sawdust strewn over the land. A story punctuated by the heavy tread marks drawn deep in the mud. Lone stumps sit, silenced, slowly giving in to the rot.

The roar of the saw still rings through the forest. Its population shudder at the echo as leaves faint off their branches to the now-defiled earth. In the distance, patches of clouds gather, creeping ever closer to have a look at the dire scene. Soon there will be more of them. 

Their hearts are filled with sorrow as they view the scene, and their silver lining darkens. They grow dark and grim, their hearts heavy and drooping. And when they can’t hold it in anymore, their tears fall onto the soil. They console the trees. The skies rage and curse at the culprits – thunder sends shivers throughout the land.

A bird chirps around the rubble of its home. It cannot be comforted. Its young are no more. The tiny nestlings wiggle in pain. They try, but their beaks are too weak to call for their mother. Their only hope lies in the claws of death, sure to sweep them away from this burden of pain.

Photo by Karsten Winegeart on Unsplash 

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