We stepped off the trail, into a clearing in the woods where many trees had fallen. There was a lean-to that appeared to be man-made, dozens of broken branches were leaned up against the larger trunk of a fallen tree. Other branches were laid over the top of the fallen truck. In this way, there was a wall and a roof made from broken branches. We climbed on top of the fallen trunk. On its side, the boughs extended longways from the trunk, hovering at varying heights above the ground. Several trees were fallen this way, with their boughs interlaced, making a lattice. She said, “It’s like a playground.” I nodded my head in agreement, dangling my legs about ten feet above the ground, sitting on one of the boughs. “It’s chaotic,” she said. This inspired deep thought in me. I asked myself silently, “Yes, I also feel it is chaotic, but why?” It occurred to me that there was a lack of symmetry. In a forest full of life, all trees stand tall, with their roots in the ground and their branches reaching toward the sky. In this place, the trees laid on their sides. Their roots had been torn up; they hung loosely, with no soil to drink from. Broken branches were strewn on the forest floor, disconnected from their trees of birth. The lattice created by the interlacing boughs of the fallen trees was not natural. There were no leaves on the boughs. These trees were dead.