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The Woods Tell the Story

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My spot.

This morning I ventured off the trail on my morning walk with Kai through the woods. I went in search of my favorite spot in our woods, the place where I will build a small studio one day with a sleeping loft. A moss covered stone wall marks the spot with old maples and tall pines surrounding it. 

Kai surveys the woods.

The stone wall tells of days from long ago, when cows grazed there, and when farmer’s worn hands laid stones to separate their land from their neighbor’s land. Over time, the cows left the farm and the forest began to creep in, covering the boundaries so distinctly laid by the stones. Kai explored while I stood and pondered the lives of those who touched each rock as they placed it on the wall.

Red blazes mark the property line.

We continued our walk to the high point of the land where the forest gives way to a neighbor’s large field. The freshly mown field against the orange and red leaves behind it, tell of seasons changing. Kai and I stop to play in the field and warm ourselves in the morning sun. As we wind our way back to the trail, we pass red blazes and an iron rod, which mark the corner of the neighbor’s property. Today, toppling stone walls no longer mark property lines, but rather mark a time in history. They tell a story of the land and the people who used to work and live off the land. I wonder what sign we will leave in the woods for future generations. How will they see the toil of our hands and the passions of our hearts? Kai and I make our way back to the house.

Kai and I play in the field.