The forest around Doe’s heart began as a flower garden. Daisies, buttercups and hyacinth. Fragrant and inviting, under a high sun. She replanted them when they were trampled. A few times. Eventually adding thistles.
Then she decided shrubs and hedges might do a better job. And for a while, they did. Now there’s a tight copse of pine and spruce surrounding it. Their needled branches interlocking, blocking out the light. The sap-filled trunk gumming up the axes and saws of eager lumberjacks.
Inside the circles of trees, it’s cool and damp and quiet. Doe knows her heart is finally safe.