It was a Thursday afternoon and there in front of me was a tree; green leaves, rust-brown branches, roots than ran with bumps across the ground. It was just a tree. Nothing fancy - not by the normal definition of fancy anyway; it looked just the same as what you’d see in a child’s painting. But it was no child’s feat; have you ever really looked to see how wonderful a tree is? It needs no fairy tale description, no adjectives could add to this mystery; the mystery that makes a tree live - the simple fact that a tree is.
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