there is a tree in my back yard. i'm pretty sure it's an oak tree. at least that's what i think Shannon told me. i don't know my oaks from my maples, my elms from my locusts. to me, it's a tree: a corinthian column bursting up into life and glory. full of sap and pulp and rings and bugs and cells pulsing with water and always reaching for something. it is full of rhythm, reach and flourish then fall and die, and repeat.
this particular tree, though, isn't of one mind.
half of it's rusted orange leaves have given up their grip and surrendered -gracefully or not - to the pull of gravity and the threat of winter. the north side of this inauspicious oak is just about bare naked, all sticks and straight lines, a skeleton of itself. but the side that looks south is stubbornly resisting change. no longer green, the leaves have compromised their summer vibrancy, but they are clearly not ready to concede death just yet.
i feel like i can relate to this …
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