The years of weather damage show on Burley Old. The hollowed trunks of those felled by storms of yore, and the shattered boughs of recent years, lay intertwined in deaths embrace, in their return to their origins...the earth. A jumble. A mass. A mess. I often lament the changes I see in the forest. If they felt natural I'm certain I'd feel their loss less. Though they feel unnatural, I can't help but feel I'm witnessing the effects of man's recklessness, and know I'm part of that, as disenfranchised as I feel. Through really I think it may be my fear of change, and desire for security, that I feel. Some things, should, in my hind, stand eternal. Though of course, that's not how it is.
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