How can I say thanks?
You gave my ancestors life. You made the air we need to breathe. To live.
To wield the tool that took your life.
I don’t know who chopped you down. Who turned you from life to board. Who covered you with plaster and paint.
That happened half a century ago. Twenty years before I was born.
But even now, you nourish me still. You keep me safe. You give me a place to sleep. To live.
And you will do the same for others, long after I’m gone.