Lost: your trees were like castle guards as we navigated through wisping trails that took us back to your treaded arches, places others had been and marked. Trees’ leaves spoke softly to us and dirt rode on the backs of gently diving wind. The smell of soil in our soles that followed us on our trail meant here, now.

Rocks caught our toes, moments we lurched forward, still circling.

These trees always line a forest’s edge. These circles, like concentric rose petals, always move us closer, then farther away from our edge.