In my parent’s front yard there stands six small white birch trees. I think the trees are Oliver’s first love. He will hold onto the skinny trunk and bounce up and down all while smiling and laughing. He picks at the white bark, pulls off the leaves and hangs on the tiny branches. I have told him that it’s not a good idea to pull off the green leaves because they won’t grow back. He doesn’t listen. So I pull him off of his beloved tree and then he cries. Only to come back tomorrow where inevitably he will be pulled away from his love again.


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