A DRIFTWOOD'S TALE

I REMEMBER THE day the men cut me down.

I was the tallest and straightest and healthiest spruce on the hill. On one side, I gazed with wonder at the ocean that smashed against the boulders far below. I enjoyed the cries of gulls and terns as they wheeled and soared with the wind. I welcomed morning fogs that drifted in from the sea. I swayed with the thrilling, violent gales that tore across angry water and up the hillsides.

In the other direction, I looked over green forests full of deer and bear and elk. A sharp-eyed eagle sat at my top and scanned the hillsides; smaller, singing birds raised families in my lower branches; chipmunks played; rabbits chewed on ferns and grasses at my feet. It was a lovely and peaceful scene, but my soul was tuned to the drama of the waves and the powerful wind from across the seas.

The men came from a ship on