- November 09, 2016
- Posted by Central Divide
As I’m waiting for the plane to arrive at the Indian Creek guard station, I gaze around the quiet, frost tinged forest. If I was merely weary, I would stroll around these beautiful lands; but I am exhausted, and much prefer the company of this wooden chair to that of a wood lined trail. Near the dirt runway is a tall tree, broken in appearance. Its existence seems uncertain to me; the gust from a plane propeller could snap this poor tree in two, and yet surely it has withstood worse this year. Engines sound off in the distance now. Perhaps the broken pieces of the tree are only surface deep, hiding a thick inner core. Or perhaps it truly has withheld so much damage this year, and is now ready to burst at the slightest provocation. The plane is now in view. I wonder if only I would care about this tree’s fate, or even if I truly cared at all. Would I wish to see it stand, or break? My plane arrives.
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