Musing on Tom

He was just a tree. Well, mostly. He was the only tree in the whole forest who had hands at the ends of his branches. The others didn’t talk to him much, mostly since they didn’t have mouths. Tom could tell though, that they thought he was strange. Whenever he swayed to, they swayed fro. He creaked and they groaned.

Tom’s hands were many. What Tom wanted most in the world was something for his hands to do. He could swat away the wood peckers, but they were otherwise underutilized. If only his branches had elbows to bend at.


About corkedbottle

Hello hello. I'm a guy that likes to write and is really good at not writing. I've never thought of myself as a good writer, but it's fun, and I'll never get better if I don't write more!
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