The forest appears quiet. Waiting for us to listen.

Wander up the ramp. Tread carefully along the path, meander past the skeletal remains of black pine. Row after row, arranged in a perfect, orderly grid, their blackened bodies remain stubbornly standing in the damaged soil. Pause a moment. Examine the dark, uneven surfaces of the decomposing bark that still holds onto its slender host. A stark reminder of that luminous flame that swept their bare skins, extinguishing their dreams of canopying under the white sun.

Millennia of communal bonds broken by human greed in just a few hundred years.

Whole ecologies disturbed by capitalism and war destroying life sustaining worlds-taking human and non-human alike.If you lend your ear to the grid, you might hear the echoes of that calamitous terraforming in the hollow landscape.

A hope for new, collaborative world-making. Worlds where humans and non-humans carve and shape their destinies together. An ecology of refugee species in reflection, taking strength in each other. Taking courage in the mere fact that they are not alone, that as long as there is life there is hope. Is this you? Are you them?