At the moment 9am Ridges (rings of a felled tree) a fresh, perfectly cut tree stump waiting to be hauled away

walking by the road on a clear morning today

i found a cluster of tree stumps waiting to be hauled away

The rings tell you every year the tree survived

Until the final storm, the persistence of life.

(they were lying in a heap, i rolled one on the road, my hands glove-clad, drizzled it with alcohol, lugged it home, sprinkled it with dishwashing soap — it will keep)

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