By: Allan Wang

“Timber!”

The men scrambled to and fro as the tree slammed downwards into the river, soaking them all in cold water. After a few seconds of narrowly avoiding potential death, they collectively laughed and moved on. They moved over to the fallen tree and began to cut off the branches. One of the branches, next to the river, was cut but slipped out of the man’s hands and fell into the river. He tried to grab it, but it was already traveling downstream. He cursed but let it go. The branch would continue to travel downstream, until it spilled into the ocean. It would then drift across the Atlantic before landing on a beach where it would rest for the next few years.

The man, called “Jack” , would have a son. His son’s name was Harvey. Harvey sat on the hot sand. It burned his hands and legs, but he didn’t care. He’d spent the whole day there by himself. His dad, Jack, was too sick to play with him, and his mother was out working. It was high noon, and Harvey decided it was time to go back before it got too hot. Just as he was getting up, he caught something out of the corner of his eye. A slim, shard of white in the beige expanse. It was a chunk of deadwood. Curiously, he went over and placed his hands around it. Lifting slowly, he realized its weight and pulled it out from the sand. It was slim and straight, roughly 5 feet in length. Harvey grinned at his find and hurried home. Harvey would keep the stick for the rest of his life, until he was in his late 80s, a lonely old man living on his own in the upper peninsula of Michigan. It was this stick that helped complete the final walk of his life, journeying out to the beach and watching a final sunset over Lake Superior. Jack’s minimal loss almost 100 years ago helped Harvey to experience his final sunset.