I climbed the hill managing to avoid the hidden patches of ice. I listened to the wind call out my name and the names of anyone with the ability to listen. The black winged sentries repeatedly cawed at my approach until I finally got the joke and laughed right along with them. The straight and high pines that stab with green at the sky appear happy but much of their happiness is overshadowed by the loneliness that comes in missing old friends. The strong Elms are now but a memory. Wizened Oak grew old and died, never to re root or be replanted. Neighboring Apple trees were neglected and were cut down for romantic and aromatic fires. The stone walls told stories of those men that pulled them from the ground and lined them up endlessly through hill and wood. They have seen them all come and go. At the far end of the road you will find the old cemetery dating back to the American revolution and before. The most well preserved stone is thus so because it is facing opposite its neighbors;
