November 20, 2025

My home is closer to the woods. As the slope ever slides with hazel nut trees, the footpath trails to an alleged farm road. We never walked till the end of the path, for it was said a scary wood spirit hid in the dark of the forest to lure you and trap you in a forest labyrinth. But if you had just strayed a bit further from my mother's garden, just a tad further, you would have seen a small knoll. The sun hit ever so perfectly while the trees wrapped it tenderly. I remember walking the footpath in search of dry twigs for the winter fire. I remember yearning to lay there but my sisters would warn ever so softly that that's where the bears often dwelled. Disappointed, I would walk home, feed the fire and take out a yoga mat we owned that no one ever used for yoga. Go to the yard, and next to a patch of carpet grass that never seemed to spread, I would lay the mat. Then, with a speaker playing my playlist, I would lay down on my back and close my eyes. Those were the days happiness tingled on tips of my breath. Last month, after years of working, I finally went back home to find a mechanical tower on the knoll with not a trace of trees. I wonder where the bears have gone.