The forest of my youth is burning. Burned. Twelve hundred miles away I am perched on my front step, peering over a tiny screen and an even tinier map. Barely discernible roads are painted red. I can not determine how much I’ve lost. The dock where I first held hands with a boy. The family cabin where I got my first bee sting; running headlong to my grandmother, terrified at the hurt and the tiny dying creature. The lake where I finally got to drive the boat, my father tucked proudly behind me. I fell in love for the first time in that forest and I wonder if my childhood is ash.