The forrestry on Settrington High Street

To visit you, I take the car through country roads that I should know and feel I do, really, from sledging and walking -
Still, I remember leaving you here well enough, though it was the car I was most concerned with in the mud and for the heat.
We left you in an uncomfortable fling.
There aren't parts of you in every tree here, I feel sure.

I do apologise, that I certainly can't remember a heartfelt talk in any detail, a defining moment amongst this broad nature -
Maybe some snow here and there, on a day that may have included you, later on, now I'm told.
Where else though? It would always be clumpy, never spread quite widely enough.
Here, then, beating the ground, waiting for an explanatory sunbeam,
Finding that nothing, nothing in this forest of ashes reminds me of you.