Forest Cinema

Our family relocated our annual reunion to a resort called Bug Bee Hive. One family is staying in a cabin at the very top top of a gently rolling hill. It is called Tranquil-a-bee. To get to the cabin, one must ascend a relatively graded hill (for Minnesota). At the apex of this hill, there are four blue, cinema-style chairs perched among fallen saplings and the scent of damp leaves, laying in wait for fall.

Someone coined it the ‘forest cinema.’ A theatre of sorts, perpetually showing only the devastation of summer thunderstorms and the accumulation of heavy, wet snow. Four seats, nested in undergrowth, the blue plastic deteriorating slowly from the indirect sunlight.

This place is a checkpoint. Somewhere between the last drink and the next cover song. A monument to junk and repurpose. It’s undone and an ultimately quiet place to consider the lengthy afternoon and the ebbs of highway 55.

I walked the path today by myself . I stopped briefly at the forest cinema, but no description summed it as well as my cousin Angie did.

“Andrea, I’m not letting you go there alone.”

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