The Distant Summer
The oak tree stood in the center of the impound lot, a silent, unyielding monolith of bark and leaf that had never been pruned, never been watered, never been acknowledged by the municipal council or the city planners who had paved over the grassy expanse to make room for more sedans, more SUVs, more engines that idled in the heat, and I, standing in the shadow of its sprawling branches with...
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