Through The Trees

A boy walks alone into the woods. A tall evergreen forest, planted in perfect rows by a young man who is no longer young. Thirty years have left him bent, broken and breathing a greatly shrinking number of breaths. The trees still grow, all in a line. Their green needles peppered with brown death. It's the beatles, moving up from the ground in the fall, to spend the winter eating at the solid guts. Devouring cambium, weaving criss-cross lines beneath the bark. In a hospital bed the old man can sometimes feel the cancer eating him, organ by organ. He feels close to the trees, like two soldiers from different wars. He misses their presence. Like old friends, they once witnessed walks with his grandson, who now walks alone. Through the trees.

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