| Photographs by Bill Wilhelms | |
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Forest Path by Bill Wilhelms
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The Forest The loggers leave a path: mud streaks, hewn branches, stumps, scarred trees, boulders askew marks left as if a titan has been dragged screaming through the forest. The formerly peaceful walk through the worshiping trees is now a tormented vision as of a battlefield done, the leavings of Grendel's feast strewn about. And next year they will be marked again with circles of paint like numbers tattooed on wrists waiting for the train. The conversation of the trees is now stunted-- a stricken, amazed silence echoes. The caretakers count their 30 pieces of silver. The loggers count their board-feet and drink another beer.
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