Burning Logging Slash

Fourty years ago I helped plant some trees in Oregon. Then moved away from the state: The trees were neglected. Many did not live but a few did grow to fourteen inches in diameter. Most of the surviving trees were felled this year. I had not seen the place since we planted the trees, and today I went back. It felt like a historic occasion. The snow covered the sore ground covered with debree by the loggers. Steam rose above the snow and burning piles. Taking a break from feeding the fires, I painted in my moleskin.