I cut the tree, limb from limb and I think about the line (is there a line?) between life and death. I strip one of the large limbs of its bark, admiring the eerie glow-- pale white, like bone. The limb is heavy; naked; bare. Its length is coated in slippery sap, and I am reminded of blood. I have just killed, yet the line between death and life could not be more unclear. Beneath my fingertips, living cells are rushing towards some end (sentient, or no?) . . .
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