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writing: Blog2
  • Writer's pictureEmily Kim


It’s sprawling and, now it’s autumn and there’s rain to nurture, green. Very green. And very beautiful. There are pines that are a little more bent than I’m used to, more angular; each head of needles seemingly more splayed, less bunched. I count maples with their papery bodies peeled bare. Crisp today, wilt tomorrow. It’s whisper appropriate and I follow suit.

Today I padded around until my breath hitched one time too many and my sweat caught the chill. Now I’m melting into my favorite tree, a sturdy pine whose body runs parallel to the ground. I’ve a book I’ve promised Shelby I’ll read, but I can’t leaf through the pages just yet. I’m content spent- collapsing into my tree, watching dogs nose around before alighting at their humans’ call and bounding off obediently.

I miss Bosch.

I sit up and feel bits of the tree have clung to me. How sweet. Scruffs of bark embedded in my back, trying to make me one of their own. Not yet. Today is not the beginning of my life as an Ent.

I lie back and relax to the brink of sleep. I love this park and I love my runs here. Might be my favorite bit of living here in Middle Earth Spain.



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