The Trees Andrew Myrick Walking amongst the trees, I get the feeling that something important was interrupted. That same feeling you get when you ask a group conversing a question. They stop and look at you as if they just found out you existed. I didn’t mean to interrupt, believe me, I just wanted to see what a decade long conversation might sound like. Perhaps the oak had been waiting seven seasons to tell the pine a wonderful jokeOnly for me to come along.
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