Deep hope...


The old cherry tree that blessed us with blossoms spring and fall during our first two winters back on the mountain produced neither leaf nor bloom this year. There have not even been any sprouts from the roots. We'll need to have somebody come and take her down before winter sets in. 

We love our old neighbors best, and whether blood or sap flows within them, we're sad to let them go, and we harbor a deep hope, which we're loath to acknowledge, even to ourselves, that they might outlive us.

henrymitchellbooks.com

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