There is a small plantation of red pines at the beginning of my road.
Over the past 25 years, the trees have grown taller but not much larger in diameter. Occasionally one will succumb to age or rot, falling down and creating the odd open space.
However, the military alignment never changes.
When it snows for the first time in the winter, it becomes evident that the word “bush” cannot be used to describe this collection of trees. Not much randomness here.