The life of a Christmas Tree
After the old farmer’s death, his sprouts didn’t visit the crooked house in the woods much. They were the busy type, always moving, always talking, just like bees. The old oak missed his former owner. The farmer didn’t talk much, but he watered his trees regularly and would often read under Acorn’s trunk. It felt strange to see him stare for hours into sliced remnants of other trees, but the oak didn’t mind his silent company.