A forest, split into two segments by a river, gentle and gleaming. The difference in sides is at first minuscule, if noticable at all. On both sides, large trees cover the forest, protecting the wildlife from wanderers. Light fights through the thick leaves, pointed like spears ready for an attack. Branches fight for space against one another while bearing the vines that hang from them, tangling and interlocking. Poison ivy sprawls about, encroaching on the various mushrooms that have sprouted out of the damp, rich, soil. Both sides have this wild and dangerous nature. But where on one side there are signs of life—deer tracks, bird nests, snake holes—there is equal lack on the side opposite. Even the small creatures of the forest don’t reside in this half of the forest scene. Is it worth mentioning that the desolate half is the one to the left of the writer? The divide of life invites an obvious question in—what caused such a strange occurrence? Is this an intentional anomaly, created by the Creator himself, simply for silly little people such as myself to look on and ponder further His creation? Was this the result of some devastating industrial event, somehow laying claim to only half the forest scene, perhaps prevented of going further by the river? What happened here?