Forest

AJ loved his forest. It really was his, but he didn't own it in the conventional sense of the word. It was his because he knew every tree by name. Two thousand years old himself, he had watched them grow from volunteer seedlings to mighty elders. He had watched nature uncover again the bedrock she had buried for millennia. Ancient Precambrian rock made him feel young. Warblers sang to him by day and loons at eventide. Streams to the newly named mighty Hudson and St. Lawrence were clean enough to see trout and bass clearly. Recently, tourists and hardy natives provided company when needed, while Sargent's "forever kept as wild forest land" gave him peace. AJ loved his forest.