The clear-cut woke me up again

I keep having this one where I walk a stand I've known for thirty years — same firs, same logging road — and every time I look back the trees are gone, just stumps and the smell of fresh sawdust. Then my boots are full of something that might be ash or might be snow. I wake up annoyed more than sad, honestly. Like even my subconscious can't let me clock out.