The Tree farms of Scotland

The trees are regimented in the Scottish Highlands.

Mossy stumps lie like gravestones

The rolling hills are beautiful and empty.

The train line diesects the valleys

It snakes around the rivers cutting past the squares of oaks, then a rectangle of young ferns about halfway till harvest.

Beautiful Scottish pine used to cover the land, now the clearings are vast and bland.

They are grown for their wood then cut then grown then cut then grown again.

The Forest were never quite allowed to recover up here. The land is angry, it's bare and dead trees lie splintered around the empty sheep fields.

They are but crops crammed into their allotted squares like sardines

They are dense but not through time, not through being left untouched by the world, the moss and the trees closing off from the world to grow upwards. They are packed for cost effectiveness, to maximize money.

Oh why, the great oaks cry out silently, for what reason, but we have forgotten how to listen.

The Forests in Scotland are cold and lifeless, they are wood farms.