sweet: | 2.2 |
The fern, its fronds’ sugary underside, ridges of next year and the ones beyond. They must want to sleep, these plants, these trees, not in their wintry way, but in our human, foggy way, screened from the world by the furry veil of another world. The trees’ blue heads must seek the forest floor in the dark, curl up with their rooty feet, leave behind the owls eating mice.
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