The Bulldozer That Broke My Heart


Writer’s photo (and finger). Summary: small little tree frog hanging around on the lanai display, before the devastation.

I don’t keep in mind the last time I wept like that.

A mournful growl that ran from throat to knees and caved my breast in.

I can still keep in mind the smell.

Sharp, bright, natural. The streaming lifeline of pines, palms, oaks, sawgrass, poignant arboreal panic and pain.

The breaking and popping of their bones.

The screaming birds and quiet squirrels, displaced and shocked.

Author’s photo. Description: the forest bordering the yard where we made use of to live in North Port, FL.

I stood in front of the rusty maw of the bulldozer, part of me wanting it would run through the chain link fence and hit me.

To make sure that it would certainly stop.

Author’s screenshot. Shot of the video clip of the bulldozer as it took apart the trees.

However I understood that would be only short-lived. Even if it ran me over and with, left me a puddle of my very own dead meat, the damage would certainly go on.

Leaving my household a shattered accident like the disposed of branches broken over the sides of the dirty dumpster that sat on the whole lot later that day, in the forest’s graveyard.

Resource web link

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *