A Petrified Tree

I don’t know exactly when he died.  He seemed as still and tall and upright as ever, his arching boughs bracing the two less imposing end trees.  The garden is nearly forty feet long, on the oval, double the length of the hosta conga line that adorns the walkway–really, when I think about it, paralleling the entire length of the house.  Last year, the squirrels built their nest in the far tree, the one of all the three which is most healthy, none of its smaller trunks cleaving the main trunk but rather emerging from a robust centre…  

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