The forest ain’t what it used to be. First it was the logging, then the influx of non-native trees. More recently, these newcomers have become a real problem for the more established members of the community. In fact, some of the younger of these have started to cluster together and seem intent on making the natives feel intimidated. You know, they don’t even call it the forest any more. They have started saying things like, “Welcome to the Wood.”
Danno stood on the boundary and tried to make out what lay ahead. All he could make out was more haze and confusion. He had been in a similar place before; a year ago in fact. He looked behind him, and then forward again. Surely, 2022 couldn’t be any worse than 2021. Then again, he thought that the year before as well. He looked back again and took it all in. “Into the mist,” he said aloud and stepped into ’22.
It wasn’t exactly yellow bricks, but it would have to do. After all, they weren’t in Kansas any more, so Dorothy, Toto, the Scarecrow, headed down the Yellow Leaf Road in hopes of finding the Wizard. Little did they know that the Wicked Witch of East Anglia had an army of mustard-addicted canaries waiting to take carry them off to her evil realm of Norwich.