The oak tree was still, silent and motionless but for the wind, rustling the leaves, which had turned brown. The wind no longer challenged the tree to grow and strengthen itself. And, like the Tower of Pisa, the oak no longer stood straight but leaned precariously...
Three years ago, the red oak trees here at Vanaprastha produced a bumper crop of acorns. When the wind blew, acorns peppered the deck and roof like hail stones. Keith and I thought this was a response to the disruption of building the house, as if the Oaks were...
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