The Golden Song
The oak was dying, or so the neighbors claimed, and Marcus Thorne stood in the center of his living room, holding a tape measure like a surgical instrument. The wood was a European Sessile Oak, *Quercus petraea*, a species he had spent the last fifteen years cultivating, grafting, and studying with a devotion that bordered on the religious. He ran his thumb over the bark, feeling for the pulse...
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