It resonated. Around me, until the village square. I first thought it was an earthquake. As those who grumble in the distance, a little further south. Those who move mountains. Then a branch snapped. And she fell. Grosse. Heavy. Dead. So I could discern the threat in the contours of this ancient tree, linden honey this. And all the trees of the garden have become worrisome. I have watched the tired limbs. I have found.
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