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.
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.
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.