As Matthew thought about all these stories he felt something brush his arm. The sprout which was closed moments before, had now opened. He looked at it, it was just like all the other stories in the book but this one was new and green it read. It started ‘Perhaps it happened at cocktail night…’ Matthew remembered a line, a line these trees must have written. They were tall, willowy and very quiet; always writing, always listening. They never left their posts. It all made sense. They seemed to record what they see and what they sense is in your imagination. Matthew decided to take cuttings off the trees to protect them from extinction and then displayed the collection as historical artifacts.
That didn’t wrap up in the neat tie it all together way that I thought would magically happen but who wants to build a tree with story leaves with me? Matt Hsu!? Madelaine Spina? Practical way to publish right?