Brush Clearing

The hot sweat drips down my back. This day blurs into all others, but I am certain of the steady victory against the invasive honeysuckle. As I look up the sawdust peeks beneath my safety goggles, temporarily distorting my vision. When my eyes clear I see a tangled branch of honeysuckle tucked safely to its root, firmly rooted in the ground. It mocks me. Among its slain brothers and cousins are armies more still firmly holding the line. My neck aches from its constantly tucked position, necessary to cut the trunks hidden in a web of angry branches. Slowly I extract myself to a place where I can stand. I look through the forest to see a glint of light from the clearing ahead - piercing the shadows. I look up to the canopy of remaining hardwoods, flexing their leaves in the breeze as if claiming the newly available fresh air and light. I can almost hear them whispering about the legacy that they plan to spread to the forest floor. The song birds hear their whispers and settle into the reclaimed forest. The mocking honeysuckle army at my feet will have to wait. I am exhausted. I grab my chainsaw and walk toward home.