Tree

It was the winter of 1982 when rumour spread amongst the routes of the old oak tree that the trees branches above ground were imitating them.
“The branches above ground are copying us” said a thick route to a thin route, an artery to a vein. The branches are bare, they have dropped their leaves to the ground in an attempt to cover up their mickey taking. It’s like we are looking into the mirror.
We have to rise above them. Remember the ground is our sky. The worms are our birds. They need us more than we need them.