We are the tiniest of branches
that are lucky enough to be born
in the final urgent inches
of an elderly oak tree's
upward, straining reach.
Even when the temperature drops,
and we are most vulnerable,
we'll still be reaching for something.
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Also, read these things. They're pretty good.
How It Ended, by Liana Holmberg (from decomP)
Drawn To Scale, by Sean McCleary (from the stoneslide corrective)
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Playing on my iTunes at this very moment:
Bon Iver, Perth
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