Band-aids

Camilia noticed Girl Cat.  Before continuing on their walk, the cat stopped routinely to nibble on blades of green grass. When Girl Cat had finished her nibble Camilia asked, "You don't chew on just any blade of grass, do you?"

The cat smacked her lips, her tongue moved a blade that would not go down.  "No, not just any blade will do."

The woods were high, nearly doubled in height since the cold winter warmed to spring the ferns were as tall as Camilia and towered over Girl Cat.  Both girls walked differently with the near-giant greens.  Girl Cat sniffed at every new sprouted green:  the ferns, the berries, the long spears of tough grasses, and the sweet nibbling grasses, too.  Camilia whistled less for some reason, and paused to notice the thin saplings she and Bean had cleared in late winter making it possible to walk the woods.  Bands of color dull green to near orange-yellow streaked the saplings tossed in piles.  As she pondered, Girl Cat waited licking her coat.  The family of saplings were now twice the size they were in March, leafed-out and whorled the branches were now Archways of Alder.  First to grow in any cut forest, they set root and send the scent of calm back into the crying world of trees once-standing tall.

From her waiting spot Girl Cat said, "Band-aids.  Like the sweet grass I nibble.  Alder is the forest Band-aid."

"Hmm," Camilia thought.  Tears were seeping from behind her glasses as she held onto the curved Arches of Alder.  Never quite sure where Girl Cat came up with her vocabulary, she said finally,"I guess they are."  The cat came closer and said, "Yes, they are."