future stumps

The woods waited for her, everyday she passed the ancient sickly trunks, she felt the wind still with their bated breath.

But hang on, she said to herself. The trees are waiting in great suspense, very anxiously or excitedly? Day after day? No wonder they’re sickly.

Also, she continued internally, the wind consists of their joint breath? If the wind is still, then the trees are holding their breath? Shouldn’t they be breathing rapidly? Hard to hold your breath for days when you’re anxious and excited.

She stopped to inspect a trunk. Uh oh. Borer larvae. These trees weren’t waiting for her and their breath wasn’t bated. They were waiting for a careless campfire to put them out of their misery.

for First Line Friday

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