The Tree

The tree was rotten, dying. Sometime in the autumn beetles had nested beneath the bark, and from there an infection had spread that poisoned the sap. It was only with the onset of the spring, when the leaves sprouted brown, and fell dead to the ground in the first wind, that we had any indication of a problem. Of course, by then, it was too late.

The same was true of our marriage, and I left soon after Easter.

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Notes:

1. Written on May 1st, 2019

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