In the echoes of my past, I hear the mourning of the trees. To survive fire and ice, drought and flood, is to be mighty. The forest is alive with strength. But as the morning dawns, a chill sweeps through the trees. A strange, frightening sleep has come to haunt the woods. As a pale form stomps through, death is brought in a veil of violence. No armor is strong enough to stop the death from coming. As the professor of progress comes with his axes and saws, the forest sighs its last breath of freedom.
–Nnett, Fall 1999
