I know you can not possibly understand the reason for your pain, the wrongs that have been endured. I don’t have the guilt you probably think I should, If you even conceive of my existence. What I do have, though, is compassion. Love. Everything I have done is because I care for you so deeply.
You never imagined how I watched you as you grew surrounded by your family, swaying as the cool winds blew across the northern slope. It was almost as if you leaned into the laughs of children rising up from the small village below. Such joy. You were beautiful, so full of potential and strength. It was winter, just after the first dusting of snow. Early morning. You imagined the spring when your pine cones would bud as the edge of my saw made the first cut. I remember the sap weeping, uncontrolled, down the bark. When your confusion ended with the realization that spring would never come, it was my eyes that filled with tears.
To you I am certain my methods seem crude or even cruel, but you need to know that they are not. I can not deny that I cut you down, that I pulled you from your beautiful mountain top, away from your family, away from your village. I know I caused you to contemplate what you had done, why it would be you who was punished. Nothing. What you don’t see is the precision of every cut, even the time is chosen in the cool months to make for perfect aging. I cut you on the quarter for strength and into perfectly sized billets to be dried. This was never to punish you, but to craft you into something more, something it would be hard for you to grasp. It will be at least ten years before the next step is ready to begin.
You never imagined how I watched you as you grew surrounded by your family, swaying as the cool winds blew across the northern slope. It was almost as if you leaned into the laughs of children rising up from the small village below. Such joy. You were beautiful, so full of potential and strength. It was winter, just after the first dusting of snow. Early morning. You imagined the spring when your pine cones would bud as the edge of my saw made the first cut. I remember the sap weeping, uncontrolled, down the bark. When your confusion ended with the realization that spring would never come, it was my eyes that filled with tears.
To you I am certain my methods seem crude or even cruel, but you need to know that they are not. I can not deny that I cut you down, that I pulled you from your beautiful mountain top, away from your family, away from your village. I know I caused you to contemplate what you had done, why it would be you who was punished. Nothing. What you don’t see is the precision of every cut, even the time is chosen in the cool months to make for perfect aging. I cut you on the quarter for strength and into perfectly sized billets to be dried. This was never to punish you, but to craft you into something more, something it would be hard for you to grasp. It will be at least ten years before the next step is ready to begin.
19-2-2015
11:45