I love them, the forests. I grew up in a place where the forests were composed of bricks and concrete If you looked out of the window, you did not see trees, but the neighbour who might also looking out of the window. We were searching for our trees and greenery in vain. London was not a place for forests, they had been banned to the so called green belt surrounding the 14 million inhabitant town, there was no room for trees, it had all been occupied by people.
And one day a little over 50 years later, I discovered where the trees had gone. They had surrounded my village in Switzerland. The trees were there first and planted their roots to stay. In between the trees they built a village, but that is OK. We can see the trees from our garden. We can take a walk, just a few minutes, and you are in the middle of the forest. There are even signposts pointing the way, in case you might not find your way out of the forest. And sometimes you do not even see the forest due to the trees.
I used to belong to the village first aid society and we would sometimes meet in the local forest in a hut that had been built for the village. It was quite homely inside, with a small kitchen and outside we could b-b-q on an open fire. All villages have their forest. It was early evening, beginning to get darker and then I saw an animal walk past the hut deeper into the forest. Was it a fox, perhaps something smaller like a ferret, but it walked: a bat was flying around and I heard an owl from somewhere above. I once met a group of deer in our local forest, and saw a fox watching for his next meal. Kill or be killed is the forest motto. And we the humans just kill for the fun of it, because we can buy our food in the local supermarket.
Humans look after your forest, it is where we came from at the beginning and we might want to go back one day when everything else perishes.