Could these trunks have once belonged to a cherry tree, with its shimmering red leaves? Or to an elegant birch tree, nestled close to a mountain stream? In either case, happy little creatures would have been found skittering about under their branches, which would have undoubtedly provided shade for more than one weary, long-forgotten traveler. When the loggers were done and the echoes of their saws had faded away, all that would have been left was a pile of logs giving off the intense smell of freshly cut wood. In a matter of weeks after being piled neatly in the back of a truck they wound up at the saw mill.
Now we are in another place, another time. To make these trunks come to life again and be more than just a thought from the past, we will have to make use of our memory. And we will have to play, the way children do, stacking them and building with them in an utterly natural, instinctual way.
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