It is a marvelous thing to study an entire forest. Witnessing its dissection uncovers another layer of the interdependency at work in an ecosystem. To stand in a vast open space where once there was a forest is heartbreaking; and at the same time awe-inspiring. To visually see what supported abundant life and to become aware of the the unseen—the intelligence it contains to start again—is to understand the wisdom of the earth and to feel the soil waiting for seed.

When the 60-acres of urban forest behind my house was cut, I thought that would be the end of my documentation. I thought the place would be lifeless and stagnant, but I was wrong. Influences that changed the forest when it was green and flourishing, still impacted the bare land.

Man’s interference, animal behavior and the weather all changed the landscape, just as before. Bulldozers dug into the earth exposing a surprising array of colors. The steel caterpillar tracks mixed the colors in treaded patterns. Pockets of gas bubbled up and iridescent minerals and bacteria oozed out of the earth, blending with soil and water. The bare earth became a massive canvas—a living, moving, watercolor painting.

Animals, birds and insects traveling toward water, left marks in the form of prints, or simply stirred the wet earth. Dry days made the ground curl up and crack. Wind blew in shredded leaves during a violent storm. Rain wore down machine made marks, softening them first, then obliterated them, before eroding deep channels. Singing frogs laid tadpoles, ducks and geese moved in to feed, black coyotes came to hunt. Life did not stop. It just changed and unfolded in surprising and captivating ways.