Talking Trees

“The house is perfect,” I whispered. “I don’t want to live anywhere else. I can’t live anywhere else.” I turned slowly to look at all the trees surrounding the property. I had always dreamed of being surrounded by large trees because they always reminded me of the house my grandparents lived in. I was obsessed with trees and started naming them before I even put an offer on the house. I started with Frank, Lucinda, Henry, Johnson, Elvis and Patricia. There were only so many names left. I loved trees that much (though some could say I loved them a little too much). If the boundary around my house was not trees, I was not happy. 

I needed to see the branches move with the wind and hear the whisper of the leaves. The trees were the only creatures who knew my secrets and kept them safe in their bark, never to go farther than their roots. The day I signed the dotted line and the house became mine was the best day of my life. The trees started to scatter their sweet fall scent and their seeds reached out to start new lives. It wasn’t until I had been in the house for a month when I realized why no one had snapped up the house. It was because the trees, well, talked. And they did not talk quietly. 


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