I remember the family land

I remember the land and its people, and I am concerned about the limitations of their mentality. I remember the dead and how the trees outlast them. I hear the language of the trees—the whispering sound of freedom and the resilience of human life, supported by the generosity of a mature land. The wasteland we leave behind speaks volumes, even in silence. You might see a simple grassy area; I see a courtroom filled with conflict. I see families battling over ownership and children fighting for their rightful place. The land we abandon, even without words, understands its intrinsic value. How will you come to terms with yours?