Creative Writing: The Tree
As the oak croaks within the imminent space in the ground, the branches creep through what is left of a swing, broken down by the wind and squirrels. I sit under its obscure shade, breathing in the pheromones of seasons…
As the oak croaks within the imminent space in the ground, the branches creep through what is left of a swing, broken down by the wind and squirrels. I sit under its obscure shade, breathing in the pheromones of seasons…