“I like the smell.
As I dig, I find, smack dab in the middle of the tree, a tiny, yellow stone. Like a jewel, sort of, I think at least. I have never seen a real jewel. Plastic stuff, well, yes. Mother did enjoy her collection. Tacky I suppose, the collection that is, but my yes, they were tacky times.
So I begin to pick at the yellow stone, thinking of wealth and my mother. It’s wedged in, but I’m determined to get it out. I’m not lacking strength. I once dated a tennis player. Strong, very fit.
As I pick away, sweating and grinding my not-so-false teeth, I groan. Groans of stubborn desire, well so I thought, but I begin to sense that the groans are more ones of pain.
Then I make another realization.
I wasn’t the one groaning.
I stop in mid-pick.
I listen…I listen again. I skip the third listening and move straight on to my fourth listen.
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