rosenoelthorne

I walk out of the added-on playroom in the back of my house onto the porch through the big sliding-glass door. I rest my elbows on the banister and look over the forest in my backyard. Decades-old trees, maybe some even centuries old, reach up towards heaven; and that one that fell over long before I was born still lays on its side over the draining pool filled with decaying leaves (and who knows what else), still balanced from toppling completely into the pool by its steadfast, tenacious roots. I can barely see the blue sky peeking out from the canopy of trees, a few clouds making little white spray-painted puffs against the blue. The porch