They cut down the woods I used to go to on nights like this.

“They”, of course, is referring to the multitudes of millionaires and billionaires who decided to build their glorious homes in the hills of North Jersey. I can’t blame them. I would live here too, minus the collection of empty rooms, soulless designs, and technological advances even the Jetsons wouldn’t need.

I’m standing now, looking at the rows of cookie cutter mansions. Nature shrugged off in favor of a white picket fence surrounding a backyard with a beautiful pool and swing set for the kids. For better, for worse, this is life as we know it.

And every year, as I have to go farther and farther to reach a peaceful set of isolated trees, the pit in my stomach grows that one day there wont be any trees to go to at all. Just a giant grid of houses, devoid of the hills, streams, and woods that once provided comfort to the lost souls of New Jersey.

I fear for these millionaire’s kids more than I fear death itself.