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It Doesnt Only Affect One

Tia McKinney

ABSTRACT: Throughout my short story I express different perspectives on place. On

the 2nd page, I write from an aspen trees perspective. The 3 rd page includes my
perspective. The 4th page is a tree cutters perspective. The last page is told from the
flowers perspective. They all work together to tell you about my sense of place and
where I feel like I belong. My relationship to place is spiritual, meaning when I came
across this aspen grove I just felt a connection to it. This is shown from my perspective,
I stare upon the beauty of the black and white forest. I lifted my face letting the light and
shadows dance across my body. In this short story I show my environmental ethic,
preservationism, from a sentence that repeats at the end of every perspective,
deforestation: never had I seen it so close to my heart.

A new sunlit day letting the wind stream through my hair, not knowing what was
going to occur in the near future.
For years I have sat in the same place with my friends, I say friends because
they dont talk, they whisper when the wind blows. We all look the same except when I
got my new mark, TM 2014.I felt the knife carve my skin as I stared at this girl not
wanting to do anything, I just ignored it. To have this mark be my only distinction from
my fellow airmakers is kind of sad.
We all stare at the field made of small blades as they wave at us. The field flows
in the wind dancing to the beat of the whispers. When my friends whisper they whisper
back, but I no longer hear their whispers. Ever since I got my mark I cant hear them. I
no longer see just black and white. I see every color, the fields of green like my hair, the
small elegant flowers posing ready to soak up the yellow sun, the elk that wanders over
to us and brushes against me. All of these wonders in the world and I am rooted into the
ground of my past ancestors.
The light is fading, creating new light and dark patches around me. The thunder
wails between my distorted friends, carrying the sickly smell of wood rot. My friends
stopped whispering. The sound of thunder overpowers everything. I look at the field of
flowing flowers and everything went black. I no longer felt that joy of standing in the
same place. I no longer feel the whispers of my friends. I no longer see the posing
flowers. I no longer see colors. I no longer breathe. I lie down, stiff feeling the mark that
once made me happy. I feel nothing anymore.
There she was. I felt something on my smooth bark, a hand, the same hand that
let me see everything from a new perspective just earlier. I looked at her, rivers carving
into her face. It went from dark scary place to seeing the colors one more time. I looking
with devastation at deforestation, never had I thought it would be so close to me.

A new sunlit day letting the wind stream through my hair, not knowing what was
going to occur in the near future.
I was trying to find a place to take a break from the never ending day of picking
invasive species, Houndstongue. Bryce strolls over from across a meadow, eager to
show me her latest discovery; she leads me to an aspen grove. I stare upon the beauty
of the black and white forest. I lifted my face letting the light and shadows dance across
my body. I listen to the rustling leaves as they play together. I inhaled the green smell
and continued, delighted by crunching of twigs and leaves underfoot. The trees stood
utterly still, statues in a living museum where no leaf dared to leave its station. Indeed it
was quiet as a morgue. I came across my favorite tree, tall as a skyscraper and carved
TM 2014. After I finished I continued on past the grove, not wanting to leave the tree. I
feel as if I had forgotten something in the in the beauty of the forest.
I continued to pick Houndstongue in the field near the aspen grove. The flowers
smiled in the field next to me, ready to soak up the yellow sun. The field flowed in the
wind, swaying to the beat of the tree whispers. Despite my job responsibility, I remained
transformed by the tree, in awe of its beauty.
Later that night, I woke up from the feeling of falling and heard the sound of
thunder in the distance. I peered through my tent window into the starry night. There
was not a cloud in the sky so I prayed the thunder I heard was just part of a bad dream.
When I woke up the next morning feeling lost but not the kind of lost where you
lose your mom in the supermarket. I know exactly where I am; I am camping in the
mountains outside of Dolores. I know exactly what I am doing, I am working for
Southwest Conservation Corps. I know that I am sharing a tent with Bryce, and that my
fellow campers are in their tent next to us. All I dont know is why I feel as though half of
me was gone. I was yin without yang but I had no idea why.
As we continued on with the day of weed picking I looked in veil for the trees I
peer at the scarred stumps in place of where I felt like me from the moment my eyes
absorbed the light bouncing off the inanimate objects. The look of devastation as I sat
there crying over the body of my favorite tree feeling the cut across its long body.
Deforestation: never had I seen it so close to my heart.

A new sunlit day letting the wind stream through my hair, not knowing what was
going to occur in the near future.
It didnt feel right; I have done this every day for the past four years. But now, I
cant. I stare at the aspen grove, dead leaves and twigs covering the ground like icing
on a cake. I felt as though I was trespassing, but I am not.
The feeling of guilt takes over my entire body as I started to use my 10 lb. tree
killer on the first aspen. Then, it went quiet, only the sound of the thunder from my
chainsaw as I cut down tree after tree. I took a break in the field next to the grove. The
field flowed in the wind dancing to the beat of the tree whispers. The flowers welcoming
me not knowing what I have done to their neighbors. I sat in the center staring at the
half cut down forest, trying not to regret my job.
Another day another dollar, I get up and to continue this atrocity. As I start I
keep glancing at the field, the flowers are watching me. They stop moving, no longer
dancing to the wind. I look at the last aspen, disappointed in what I have done. I have
never felt this way before; I have cut down millions of trees before. I am being
ridiculous, I startup my chainsaw for the last time.
I look at the last tree I cant do it. I move to the other side of the last tree so the
flowers dont watch me. There is mark that says TM 2014 it looks kind of new. I just
need to do it and stop making excuses. As the blades of the saw move through the
fresh bark I feel as I am not only killing an aspen but also taking a life. When the tree fell
it made a snapping sound, which made me feel even worse. I watched it fall to the
ground. I put my saw down and walk to the field. I sat facing the other way; I cant look
at the homicide I had just committed. Deforestation: never had I seen it so close to my
heart.

A new sunlit day letting the wind stream through my hair, not knowing what was
going to occur in the near future.
We love listening to them whisper to us! It brings us so much happiness. We
dance as they give us a beat from their crazy green hair. We could never be happier
than right now. We are ready to soak up the sun as we dance to the whispers of the
trees. We smile in this field next to the tall black and white forest. They were taller than
most, with bodies that faded in and out of the dark shadows.
One day while we were dancing like there was no tomorrow, a girl came up with
gloves and a back pack. She started to write on one of our favorite trees, TM 2014.
The tree loved it. Never had I seen something radiate enough happiness for us all to
have. It then was the life of the party! The tree could talk to us, the tree could connect
with us.
Later that day while we were dancing, the sound of thunder started. But it was
odd thunder, we didnt get wet. After a while it stopped. Then a man came and sat in us
gazing upon our beauty, he seems very nice. We welcomed him by dancing. After he
got up the thunder started again. The sound of the trees stopped. We had never seen
them stop before. Our favorite tree was the only one standing. He stood tall above the
man. We watch the tree fall to the ground. Then, the thunder stopped, we have never
heard it so quiet. The man came and sat in us again but didnt stay long, he seemed to
have to run off somewhere.
But we still dance. We can always find something to dance to. No matter what
situation we are in we can always find something good in our life. We dance with the
bushes nearby. We dance with the grass. We may not get down to the same beat the
trees made but we can still dance. We feel sorry for the trees but after they moved we
grew over where they lived missing them more every day. Deforestation: never had we
seen it so close to our heart.

Word count: 1,604