Spilt Wine

I was taken back by the number of Redwood trees that lined this long winding road Gracie and I walked along. The road seemed to go on forever through the Sierra Nevada wilderness. The green of the tress, the blue of the sky, the red of the sunset, the smell of pine needles and campfires were all so vibrant, it was like a smack to the face. Gracie appeared to be fascinated by the redwood trees. I too became fixated upon the trees myself. I began to wonder if I could possibly ever have contact with as many people as there were trees along this road. Then it hit me, how much this road Gracie and I were walking along was like the road of life that we all travel on. As for the trees, when I looked at the small tress, I could not but help think of some of those people who left an impression within my life, yet were only apart of my life for a brief moment. And the big trees, of all the people who are apart of my life or were for longer periods of times, who have influenced me in some way for the better. And the dead trees, that were few and scatter amongst the healthy trees, who have left scars upon my heart. Who have hurt me in such ways that have left lasting affects. My wilderness is full of small and large trees, scattered amongst them are those dreaded dead trees, which should be cut down, but my forest would be incomplete without them.