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I stand on the side of a hill, a path inviting me forwards, aged aspen graces the space to my right, towering on the incline above me, the delicate deep red stems of dogwood fall down on my left to the water below surrounded by an endless sea of spears of the ubiquitous bulrushes that skirt every pond for miles around. The path forward twisting and turning into mystery through the trees.

I know as I climb, stepping up and down the twisting path that ahead will be a break where still water rests, and one of the few beaver dams in the area can still be found. And as I follow the silence, delighting in the whisper of the leaves, the dance of the golden light through the limbs and the trunks of the trees, my heart is at peace and yet.. and yet, I feel pensive, a moment of melancholy as I realize that I may be one of the few humans on this planet to ever see this space.

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