I was hesitant to jump the fence in this neck of the woods, everyone out here has a rifle. But two things motivate me, the light and the oaks.As I walk under the branches I am reminded of a poem about a mountain that holds you in its spell so completely that you forget everything you have ever been. The mountain, the trail, the tree remain, but nothing of your past.

Once you have had a thing and then lost it
is it like you never had it
or is the story that remains
like a shadow of a dream you can’t quite remember?