I had stopped to visit my sister, who was living in a white frame two-story house. I walked around to the back of the house with my sister, who looked like her normal self, a thin brown-haired woman in her mid 30s. Once behind the house in the back yard, I first noticed a black metal clothes line stretched between two large black poles. I knew my father had given the clothes line and the poles to my sister. I also knew the poles and the clothes line were barely usable. A flange at the bottom of the poles was supposed to be bolted to the concrete slab on which the poles were standing, but the bolts were missing, so the poles were leaning, and the clothes line was drooping. The whole set-up appeared ready to fall over. My sister herself commented that the clothes line was just junk. I agreed and said that my father only ever gave us stuff he couldn't use any more.

My sister also began talking about something else which my father had asked her to do for him. As it turned out, my father owned the house next door to my sister's, as well as several other houses on the block. He had only recently moved a very old woman into the house right next door to my sister. As my sister spoke about it, I recalled having talked with my father, and his having told me about his intention to move the woman into the house. My father had told me that the woman was "visually impaired." I mentioned this to my sister, and she said the woman wasn't simply visually impaired, but that the woman was completely blind. Anyway, my father had asked my sister to help watch out for the old woman while the old woman lived in the house. My sister was now complaining about it, and I didn't blame her for complaining. It seemed unreasonable that my father would expect my sister to take care of a blind woman.

My sister and I walked back around to the front of the house. Not far from the front door stretched a hill. I recalled that this hill, also owned by my father, had been covered with large beautiful trees the last time I had been there, but now logs were lying everywhere on the side of the hill, and all the trees had been cut down. The loggers were still there, working on cutting down the last tree. I looked at the loggers, and seemed to recall having seen them there once before, before the trees had been cut. Now they were standing on the side of the hill, smiling down at me, sneering really, as if proud of their handiwork, knowing I had relished the trees. Seeing them there made me angry, but being angry at the loggers wouldn't do any good. The land belonged to my father, and he had told the loggers to cut down the trees. I knew my sister was also upset that the trees had been cut down. I told her we could do nothing because the land belonged to my father. He could do whatever he wanted; nevertheless I was upset to think he would have cut down all the beautiful trees.

One small maple tree, about two meters tall, had been left standing. At least it would grow taller than new trees which would just be starting up. But the one little tree was practically no relief for the devastation of the hillside.

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