It’s the trees that make me cry more than anything. The hemlock stands strong with its twigs of green and cones until the last moment when snow hides the earth and deer eat the branches bare. The red cedar stands alone in fields long abandoned. Slow but steady it grows Only to be chopped for chests and posts. The blue spruce lives long, valued for its beauty, but outgrows its friends well after they are gone. The red pine feeds mice and birds of song, but, in eating the seeds, these creatures devour descendents. The catalpa with its beans would seem exempt from my sorrow, but it too has flowers that quickly fade. The syrup maple is kind with abundance, and thus has its sweet sap stolen before it ever has a taste of itself. The reason, my friend, these wood entities bring such strife and pain is because of the human struggle they endure.
Mankind inflicts the destruction, and suffers the denouement.