They get a notice about the noise the saws will make while taking down the trees. Erik rubbing his thumbnail over his lower lip as he reads. What is it, Xie says. Silent push of the paper across the table. The woods are private property and should not be walked through or picnicked in or otherwise trespassed. No one can be liable for accidents involving logging equipment during such-and-such hours on such-and-such days. Any questions please call. Erik watching his face. Xie, he says. Caressing his wrist. Xie staring at the letter. Slow bloom of blood in his face. Erik leans forward, tightening his grip. Xie, he says again. Maybe there’s someone we can talk to, the city council, get some of your friends involved, maybe Jo knows— Xie looks up. Furious smile. He pushes the paper away, stands. Goes to the kitchen. Turns the oven on, whisper of flame rushing from the jet. He breaks a head of cauliflower into creamy white pieces. A hundred branches beneath his knife. Erik follows. Leaning in the doorway. We don’t know how bad it will be. The notice is only for one week of work. Xie nods. Dumping the cauliflower in the pot. Could be they only take a few hundred, at most. Xie still nodding, opening a can of chickpeas. Bangs it on the side of the pot to loosen the beans stuck to the bottom. It’s okay to be worried about it. I know how you feel about those woods. Erik goes on, offering to write a letter, to meet with the property owners, maybe they could even buy some of the land, take out a loan, he’d been thinking of it for a while, a handful of acres maybe, maybe, maybe. Xie slapping each vegetable on the board. Kale, a sweet potato, tomatoes. It was P. who sharpened the knife last, it cuts. Beautifully. We’re having curry tonight, Xie interrupts. That all right with you? Erik stops. Xie continuing in silence, lowering the flame on the rice. Wiping his hand on the towel. I’m not worried about it, Xie says, okay? Speaking into the sink. Gripping the lip of the stainless steel. So it’s fine. Erik’s face in the window, trying to catch Xie’s eye in the glass.

There are no more spikes left in the boxes. He breaks down the cardboard, buries the hammer in the garden. The gloves. His pack. Dirt warm in his hands. While you’re here strip the beds of old lettuce and put in new seeds. The cucumbers against the fence. There are tomatoes everywhere, and melons as heavy as heads. Worms churning in the compost. The strawberries ready for fresh jam. He’ll put it all in a box tomorrow, for Peter, bike it to the new church. But what to do now. Look across the stream. Moonlight running down every trunk, hash marks in the dark, white black white black white. What did I miss, what did I do wrong. But there is nothing wrong. Each tree in its place, fully crowned in green.