I am done for the evening. Done with the sound of chainsaws, the sound of dying trees, the sound of dump trucks. Done with the smell of wood chips, the smell of two stroke engines, the smell of burning green wood.
Done with the sight of blue sky instead of green canopy, the sight of brush piled higher than me stretching for miles, the sight of shattered wood a solid mass across what was the forest floor.
Tomorrow is another day. But tonight, as the darkness brings a temporary peace, and the cicadas and owls replace the sounds of living inside a sawmill, tonight I am done.