Shelter. Sarah Stonich

but I have less hesitation when whacking a birch or poplar crowding a pine. Bloodlust takes over when I’m confronted with American green alder, the vermin tree that exists solely to spite me. As random and disorganized as my micro–forest management is, it may one day result in a bit more piney shade and needle orange ground for Sam’s kids and grandkids to play on; at least that’s what I tell myself while sweating and chopping and sawing and lopping.

      Since Walter’s burial, two more cats have found their final resting places here, Nutty and Lazzie, longtime companions to Terry and Susan. Those pets also had trees planted for them, but both were cremated, their nuggety bits of bone strewn like cat seeds.