"My," The Evil Word

I went for a hike yesterday in the woods behind our house for the first time since they logged the "mature-growth" trees out and deer season this past fall. I was certainly overdue for a time of solitude in the woods.

What I saw as I trekked down the hill behind our house and back up into the wilderness was that my sanctuary had been raped!
The loggers obliterated most any recognizable paths and landmarks with wide, tractor-wheel packed roads back and forth through the woods. That is not to mention all of the tree stumps and toothpicks and splinters of trees that were left behind as evidence of the mutilation. Given that I walking through this man-made mess in mid-January, I felt like I was wondering aimlessly in some deciduous graveyard.
I kept hiking, deciding to move on deeper into what-used-to-be woods, hoping to find an end to the destruction, which I did as the topography rolled into a descent towards a creek. I crossed what I figured was the spray-painted boundary line for the loggers, and found unadulterated solace again.

Somewhere in this little 2+ hour journey, I realized that these were not MY woods. It was not MY sanctuary. Although I feel robbed of some personal access to a corner of natural beauty, I do believe in property rights, and I cannot fault the actual owner of the land on which those harvested trees grew for turning those timbers into some [needed?] cash.

Besides, Our God, the real owner of anything in Creation, has some more woods a bit beyond the deciduous graveyard, which I can still borrow from time to time for a personal, momentary sanctuary.