Today, I’d bid the trees about my home to open their eyes. They’ve slept long enough. Like a child, I’d pull at their roots as they walked together. “Tell me a story,” I’d demand. I’d want to know of the elves that once leapt through their limbs as squirrels do. Or maybe gargoyles. The ones with tremendous wings that left there perches atop stone towers and swept through the night as silently as shadow. But the trees knew them. They know all: the names of dark things, where the wind hides when the air is still, and how to unlock raindrops.
- I Spy November (thedcchristine.wordpress.com)
- Falling Squirrel Zone (auntcindycrochet.wordpress.com)
- 29th Annual Festival Of Trees Is Underway (kmvt.com)