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A
Tree Story
Prologue
There are many
places in the South
that can be called enchanting. There is one place that continues to weave a spell around those who encounter it. It sits near the spot where the tiny The land itself has a personality. The pines stand tall in many places. They are young trees, fast-growing. Their scent is strong and sharp in those places where they stand in organized rows, silent, ready to be harvested. But in those rare places where the precious old hardwood forests still stand, the trees speak. The oaks reach out their limbs, thick with leaves, to shade the inhabitants from the cruel summer sun. Beneath one of these oaks, it can seem like twilight even at high noon. Along the river, the oaks meet the cypress which always wade in the shallow water. There, the trees wear clothes. Like an Irish calleich in her grey shawl, they wear the Spanish moss over their shoulders. At night the moss comes alive. So many tales of ghosts and spirits have come from watching the moss at night when it sways and dances in the breeze. Some of the stories that the trees tell are true. |
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