trees grew on the mountain,
perched in the centre of a
place forever in my heart:
my grandparent’s beautiful
property in the Canadian bush.

built with caring hands hard at
work to be immersed with the
Earth. a purposeful place with
wondrous memories of play.
I will never forget the day

I lost my way back to the cabin
while out on an odyssey of
escape from those boring
grown-ups, sitting in the
smoke-filled gazebo, beers
at hand. yawn. could never

understand their ways of
remaining in place, but for
a brief moment as I was out
too long and sought to know
where my feet had planted
on the seabed of trees all alike.

only for a single moment had I
wished for a single tree on that
property to guide my way back
to shelter. all would be clear,
packed up in a neat box, sealed.

the destruction to get there ignored,
only the beauty of the single tree
visible. reality is always different.
my solution: walk straight back.
for a while I questioned, eager
to believe doom was my fate.

as expected, I made it back.
no one worried, despite all the
trees. I suppose they kept
me company. maybe those
million trees are preferable
to standing in an open plain.