The Wistful Throne

added blog Literature

2026-08-24 08:15:27 -

The pruning shear hangs in my hand, heavy as a dead bird. The metal is cold, slick with the green sap of the pear tree that refuses to die. I am forty-two years old, and my hands shake so badly that the handle slips, again and again, against my palms. I am trying to cut a branch. Just a branch. But the wood is hard, and the air is thin, and the tree is breathing. It whispers. I know it sounds...

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