Wood. Hard, rough, sinewy bark, powdered with dust and forest layering. Widening branches, so dry and empty of leaves. A dead tree, lying on its side, with a forlorn stump holding the evidence of the cause of its demise. To a touch, it feels empty of life; no sparking pulse flows through it, the rare sign of vivacity that had sometimes dominated the waters inside it.

It feels like wood; no longer a tree, just wood. Just as flesh feels on a corpse. Skin is normal, familiar, warm. But on a dead body, it must feel different. For humans are warm-blooded, and their flesh is seldom stone cold.

There is evidence of the tree's murderer: the clean, almost smooth edges of the stump and the layer of sawdust on it indicates a chain saw. Brutally, mechanically hewed by assassins; lumberjacks. Qualified in the art of death, trained not to care while they take out the brutal task. Or perhaps they are just ignorant; maybe they do not know that they are so coolly stealing away a life. Perhaps they see a tree as a monument - pretty, but only useful in it's death. This misconception breaks the cycle of life in its very existence - for everything is useful, in its own way.

Perhaps the tree's death is not so sad, or evil - death is natural, and oxymoronic though it may seem, death is a part of life. But death without respect from the killers is brutal, horrible. It is also odd that this impersonal death was given by those who fear death the most. Most creatures probably fear death, but they take it in their stride. Only humans are so stubborn as to try to prolong their lives and yet dominate all else. Power is what they seek, but it will ruin them.

Whatever the reason, the tree's death brings a depression to those who see it. It is a symbol of wisdom and strength that has been defeated in a cruel, needles blow. It shows what all fear - a death and an abandonment. But worst of all, it shows that time cannot be overcome. What has happened can never be undone; the past is gone and will not return.

The past is a lost world to us. Only a shadow of a memory remains.