The Faded Photograph

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2026-08-19 14:12:20 -

The fire took the roof before the bell tolled noon. I watched from the ridge. The oak tree stood black against the smoke. It did not fall. It did not burn. It remained. I held the branch in my hand. It was warm. It was hard. I knew its weight. I knew its grain. I had known it since childhood. My father had cut it. He had carved my name into the bark. The name was deep. The name was permanent....

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