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I thought a lot
about how the oak croaked
in the wind on my walk home
the other day. How it sounded like
the screen porch door of my childhood,
unhinged and indecisive.

I grew up thinking only one way.

It was not until I told a good
friend about the tree
that I understood what is meant by "precarious." 

My mother would say, "life is so precious."

Could I ever argue with a frog in winter?

[image: andy goldsworthy]