Deep in the oak woods, something stirs. Tiny creaks and crackles fill the spaces between the air with gossamer wisps of sound.The sap hidden beneath the crusty crackled skin of bark begins its upwards journey towards the wooden finger tips of the trees. The earth turns back towards the sun, and the unstoppable yearly process of growth and decay, turns the trees out of winter and into spring. But look a little deeper and this grand yearly cycle is nestled like a Russian doll within far greater, longer cycles of process and change.
Lightening is drawn inevitably, like a tragic star struck lover, towards the heartwood of oak. The bleached lightening struck branches gleam like bones, revealing the first step in the big process of decay from life.
Weakened by the heaven sent fury, the ground is littered with the fallen carcasses of limbs once swaying in the summer breeze…
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