When I was younger, we lived in that tree. Mother would bring snacks and treats and bring us back to the nest when we fell for fear of flying. Tick and Giggle and I would spend the days goading each other. It was always a competition to see who could fly first.

I won, and as soon as I could, I went out to see the world as it was. Endless lines of trees: fir, oak and willow. They seemed to march over the hills like a grand army off to war, like Mother always spoke of. The great battle between the trees and the rocks, that caused her family to lose their home when she was just a sprout like I was.

One day, I flew for as long as I could, but I reached the end of the forest. I never had before, and for a moment I was overjoyed. But, looking ahead, I saw an empty waste, peppered with the stumps of trees. I’d never thought the forest could end.

Now I circle above as another tree is felled below, by pale beings in yellow hats. The tree I grew up in throws dust into the air as it hits the ground with a thump.