for the Love of Oak

Eagle soaring above OAK

a boy with a chainsaw and gleeful glint in his eye

A hundreds-year-old Mother Tree

hacked down in a day.

the next morning

I see Squirrel climbing,

their gaze following the ghost paths of limb.

My grief and my love know no bounds.

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it might feel like what I do doesn’t matter

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♃ β–‘ β™„ (i.)