“It’s not like it used to be… you can’t mess around anymore,” Father said to me as we walked through the woods. I had been running my hand down the trunks of trees as we walked, snapping the small dead branches that hang low.
“We can’t take unnecessary risks anymore, you could cut your hand, and if it gets infected there is nothing we can do.”
I nod and hang my head, embarrassed about stepping out of line. A cool autumn breeze blows through the trees, bringing with it a few falling leaves, colorful and flamboyant. The forest floor starts to slope upward and still we walk, climbing over boulders and avoiding patches of loose gravel. The trees start to thin, the air gets light, and the wind picks up, but we continue our climb. The terrain changes to a cliff, the only plants are small shrubs lining the small untraveled path. Looking out from a vantage point on the mountain, we can see the desolate wasteland we used to call home. But the view is still partially blocked by the tops of the trees. We climb higher, and finally, we reach the windy cold summit.
There is a small log cabin handcrafted from the wood down below, moss insulating the cracks. There is a small woodshed next to it, partially filled with roughly split firewood. They are both placed on the flat weather-worn rock of the mountain. From up here, we can see it all; the deep craters left from the descended meteors, the black forest charred from the fires, and the lakes slowly draining into the massive pits left from the impact with the space rock. We take it in, still adjusting to the new reality as the strong wind tussles our hair. After the moment has passed, we both turn and walk into the cabin, where my mom and brothers have prepared a modest dinner for us.