Talking Trees


2:05 AM. Friday dawn. I slumped on the concrete, facing the trees that look back at me. Taunting. I didn’t drink anything weird, okay? But I could hear the silent message from the trees. “Isn’t this what you want — for things to be as they are,” the trees said, un-moving. I look back at them, speechless.

~image by Phoebe Strafford

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