The backside of the house was struck by sunlight following a cloud burst’s clearing.
Casted like spells looming, the pair of old trees guarding the home’s back door entryway, conjure a pair of ancient shadows, saying:
“We were planted nearly a hundred years ago. We saw it all. The doctor and his wife, first. They planted us as they built their shelter above the groping outpouring of our subterranean root structure,” says tree i.
“We saw him deliver the daughter right out of his own wife’s belly. Right next to the butler’s pantry. Midwife present to mediate the metaphysical nuances of old-timey, natural, live births,” says tree ii.
“He was the only doc in town, see,” ads tree i.
“And, we saw that daughter raise her children here, just as she had been raised above our roots,” says tree ii.
“And, though you bring us nothing but you, a lonely homesteader, we see how you learn to erect the ether of your own root’s structure,” says tree i.
“Yes, discovering the dimensions of your pyramide before constructing,” tree ii.
Build your radix for me, priapus.
Show us the wasted seed of what could have been the next generation.