Leaving More Than a Trace
The ear-splitting roar of a chainsaw throwing showers of splinters and dust up into a cloudless sky penetrates the serene mountain scene. The fresh air’s aroma of sage and wild mint gets overpowered by the reek of grease and oil. The uneven, hardly trampled soil gets unearthed and tamed by a pickax. Gnarled, ancient branches of oak scrub meet their immediate defeat in the jaws of loppers, their shredded remains tossed over steep cliffs. Helmets are worn, sweat pours down faces, hands get cut, eyes fill with dirt, ears ring, muscles grow sore.
