The land upon which Treeman's rented Civil-War-era farmhouse sits is being sold and parceled up by its owner, to be turned into 67 homes. The house itself can't be bulldozed because it's considered "historic"... but it will only be left with 0.4 acres of land.
The road through the development will plow right through the workshed and the garden beds surrounding it, filled with flowers... it will run up the hill and into the woods, probably taking out the tree in which they've built the platform at the start of their ridiculously high and long zipline.
On Friday night while sleeping under the bright moon, I dreamt about foxes. On Saturday night, Action Figure Bob trekked off into the woods with his gun because a rabbit being killed by a fox had been screaming for 20 minutes and they couldn't stand to hear it anymore (he wasn't able to find the pathetic creature before it finally stopped screaming).
On Saturday afternoon, Jeremiah and I chased a herd of deer, a dozen or more of them, through the woods in our bare feet, giggling as we ran over fallen branches and acorns.
Where will all of these creatures go? Where will the fox hunt the rabbit, and where will the rabbit run to hide from the fox?
It's heartbreaking to think of. The garden, the outdoor shower that I've enjoyed by torchlight, the firepit and the field in which two gentle giants of plow horses once grazed... this is the place where I've celebrated the Spring Equinox for the past three years, where I first lit up a fire hoop... Soon it will all be paved and landscaped, probably with that horrible red mulch, and torn down and built up and made to look like every other place...
Treeman will be moving this winter, before they break ground next Spring. He can't stand the thought of seeing it happen, and neither can I.
1 comment:
Oh! Oh! I'm grieving with you.
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