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“Corner of Martinsville Road” By Marilyn Wolf Red earth, upturned, ravaged land greets me every morning where an old patch of trees used to stand, overgrown and quiet, a tiny spot of wildness between two busy streets, watching over passing traffic, shade while waiting for the light to change, refuge for city birds and urban squirrels, homeless now. That patch of trees, older than any councilman, commissioner, or developer who stood jury and judge over its fate, is gone now, chopped down, roots dug up. Nothing left but red, raw earth, a wounding near the heart of town, waiting for retail space, to erect itself long before any healing can occur.
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