To me, it felt like a strange question to ask, given we’d only known each other a couple of hours.

“Do you spend more time thinking about the past or the future?”

It came at a reasonable point in the morning’s work, a pause as a truck load of logs headed off down the gravel forest track toward the tarmac road that led to civilisation. I could have gone another hour, and had my hand on the start cord about to pull, until that question threw me.

I put the saw down, lifted my safety visor, and took off my gloves.

“That’s a pretty deep question for your first morning on the job,” I said.

He laughed. “There’s something about these places that makes us reflect more on life. Don’t you think?“

I nodded, and reached for the flask buried deep in my pack. I unscrewed the lid and poured out black coffee. The steam rose in the cold air. I offered him some, but he shook his head.

“For me,” he continued, “I have to admit it’s both. In equal measure.”

I sat on a log and listened. He obviously needed to talk.

“I know the past is behind us, and that the future hasn’t happened yet, but I can’t let go of either. Do you know what I mean?”

I nodded, and swirled the coffee before taking a sip.

“Yep,” I said, “but I only think of now.”

I watched for his reaction and noticed his eyebrows raise at that.

“All I think about is the sound of the saw, where to position it, the pressure I apply as it cuts, then the thump of the wood as it falls to the ground,” I said.

“That’s why I’m here,” he said, nodding. “I left an executive job in the city. It was killing me, slowly, day by day.”

“I could tell by those neat fingernails you’ve never done manual work before,” I said. “Whereas I’ve never done anything but. For the last twenty years, I’ve been here, at this plantation, cutting wood.”

“Do you fell trees too?”

“I shook my head. “Tried to once. Couldn’t do it. The saw was in my hand, the chain was spinning inches from the trunk. But I couldn’t bring myself to cut down such a beautiful living thing that was older than I was.”

I noticed tears were appearing in the corners of his eyes, and looked away as I felt my own start to sting.

“Are you happy though?”

I stood and pulled my gloves back on.

“I cut logs to size, all day, every day. It’s easy work. Low stress. Good pay. I can be out here in nature, breathing fresh air, listening to the birds whenever I take a break. Sometimes I can’t believe my luck.”

“When I grow up, I want to be like you,” he said, laughing.

I flipped down my visor, picked up the saw, and pulled the start cord.