despite the summer’s heat. It had been some time since Sarah had hiked here, leaving her car in the parking area at the base of the trail, and since arriving she had done nothing but stare.
She knew what a forest looked like, of course – she wasn’t that much of a city girl. She had even been in the forest on more than one occasion, on the camping trips that her parents took their reluctant daughters on. Sarah could have painted a forest from memory, and it might not have been a bad likeness, but still there was something missing from her memory, something that she struggled to put her finger on now. It was something about how the whole place seemed so … alive.
It was ALL alive, every part of it. The trees glowed with life, and Sarah could hear the calls of birds and the buzzing of insects from every direction around her. If she listened she could hear the rustling of small animals, and she had no doubt that there were scary-big animals out there, too, if she knew where to look for them. As the wind blew through the branches, Sarah heard a sighing sound that sounded like the whole world breathing.
San Francisco was home. San Francisco was beautiful, and exciting, and everything she wanted in a city. San Francisco even offered spectacular views of natural beauty, but it had nothing that could rival this. This, this was something that she had no name for. This was something primal, meaningful, and true, and although Sarah drank in as much as she could hold, she knew that she could not capture it; as soon as she turned her back she would begin to forget it.
With some irritation she looked over at her bag, where she could see her laptop sticking up out of her canvas shoulder bag. The interview with Brad was almost complete, about 80% written, and this morning she had conceived of the notion of making a pleasant afternoon of it by finishing the article under the shelter of a tree out in the countryside. Only now that she was here, the countryside was making her want to forget all about the work still left to do.
She sighed and pulled her knees up against her chest, wrapping her arms around them and gazing out again to the magnificent view. Life could seem awfully simple in moments like this, she thought. When you’re looking out at eternity, the details of your life seem so small and manageable. She would go back to San Francisco and get a job with some up-and-coming startup: business development, or marketing. Or she’d go back and form another company, and this time she’d do it right. Or maybe she’d stay out here in Tall Pines and live a life in which there was always plenty of time to drive out to the forest and contemplate the meaning of life. All these plans seemed possible; all of them seemed completely reasonable. If only this afternoon could last forever. If only she could stop the sun in the sky so that this afternoon, with its gentle warmth and the easy buzz of the insects filling the air, would last forever and she would never need to step out from under the branches of this tree.
It was a fantasy, of course. She knew that all too well. This section of forest that she saw before her was merely a remnant of a much bigger forest that once had stood here. Off in the distance she could see the sun glinting off a set of rooftops, and further out was a section of lighter green where the trees had been cleared to make room for what – farmland maybe? The trees looked at once eternal and very, very fragile. “If I ever have a daughter,” Sarah mused to herself, “and someday she comes to sit beneath this same tree, what will she see before her? Will there be any trees left? Will the river even still run in its course? Maybe the whole thing will be a parking lot for some massive Wal-Mart nestled between the mountains.”
She thought of Duane. He was like the forest, in a way – his way of life was disappearing as well. Modernity took no prisoners; the sweep of change was so forceful that it could
She knew what a forest looked like, of course – she wasn’t that much of a city girl. She had even been in the forest on more than one occasion, on the camping trips that her parents took their reluctant daughters on. Sarah could have painted a forest from memory, and it might not have been a bad likeness, but still there was something missing from her memory, something that she struggled to put her finger on now. It was something about how the whole place seemed so … alive.
It was ALL alive, every part of it. The trees glowed with life, and Sarah could hear the calls of birds and the buzzing of insects from every direction around her. If she listened she could hear the rustling of small animals, and she had no doubt that there were scary-big animals out there, too, if she knew where to look for them. As the wind blew through the branches, Sarah heard a sighing sound that sounded like the whole world breathing.
San Francisco was home. San Francisco was beautiful, and exciting, and everything she wanted in a city. San Francisco even offered spectacular views of natural beauty, but it had nothing that could rival this. This, this was something that she had no name for. This was something primal, meaningful, and true, and although Sarah drank in as much as she could hold, she knew that she could not capture it; as soon as she turned her back she would begin to forget it.
With some irritation she looked over at her bag, where she could see her laptop sticking up out of her canvas shoulder bag. The interview with Brad was almost complete, about 80% written, and this morning she had conceived of the notion of making a pleasant afternoon of it by finishing the article under the shelter of a tree out in the countryside. Only now that she was here, the countryside was making her want to forget all about the work still left to do.
She sighed and pulled her knees up against her chest, wrapping her arms around them and gazing out again to the magnificent view. Life could seem awfully simple in moments like this, she thought. When you’re looking out at eternity, the details of your life seem so small and manageable. She would go back to San Francisco and get a job with some up-and-coming startup: business development, or marketing. Or she’d go back and form another company, and this time she’d do it right. Or maybe she’d stay out here in Tall Pines and live a life in which there was always plenty of time to drive out to the forest and contemplate the meaning of life. All these plans seemed possible; all of them seemed completely reasonable. If only this afternoon could last forever. If only she could stop the sun in the sky so that this afternoon, with its gentle warmth and the easy buzz of the insects filling the air, would last forever and she would never need to step out from under the branches of this tree.
It was a fantasy, of course. She knew that all too well. This section of forest that she saw before her was merely a remnant of a much bigger forest that once had stood here. Off in the distance she could see the sun glinting off a set of rooftops, and further out was a section of lighter green where the trees had been cleared to make room for what – farmland maybe? The trees looked at once eternal and very, very fragile. “If I ever have a daughter,” Sarah mused to herself, “and someday she comes to sit beneath this same tree, what will she see before her? Will there be any trees left? Will the river even still run in its course? Maybe the whole thing will be a parking lot for some massive Wal-Mart nestled between the mountains.”
She thought of Duane. He was like the forest, in a way – his way of life was disappearing as well. Modernity took no prisoners; the sweep of change was so forceful that it could
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