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The Dryad

There is a tree that has the shape of a woman. I park under her on days I have to work. Every time I see her, I feel like I’m in the presence of some ancient noble fertility/nature goddess. Her trunk flares out with the intimation of childbearing hips. Her branches are flung like out spread arms and also like a crown of wisdom. Her roots must dig deep for her to be so tall, but none of them are visible above the earth where she stands.

I wonder if she’s lonely. There are other trees not far, but none of them seem inhabited. I wonder who she whispers to late at night as the wind passes along her messages. Does she command the raven that sits with her by day? What would she bid him do for her? Perhaps he tells her stories of what she cannot know. Though her roots keep her strong, they are also trapping her. She is bound to this spot for all of her days. She can only moderately improve her view by growing taller. So, the Raven must give her some comfort with his company.

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