Spent the afternoon covering tree stumps with snow. A small grove of them that edged the road and the forest. Hauling buckets from an area where the sun had not yet melted it all away. The clouds moved in and and out and the sounds of the birds and pine droppings crunching under foot. The stumps, evidence of the life of the trees and of a violent end. I hastily moved between them racing the sun's snow melting gaze. I became aware of my relationship to the tree cutters, they were the last humans to experience these trees alive and have an intimacy with this little plot. As I "painted" on the snow (at times caking and others brushing with my gloves) the act enabled me to reflect, to see the tree in a way that was different from just looking. Physically touching the mass of the stumps, all of what remained anyway aside from the roots still buried underground, I was able to feel the space that it once existed in and their relation to each other and the landscape they existed in. They were here at once and now they were gone. The act of snow covering demarcates them, shows that they were here and allows us to consider our impact on the landscape.