Johnny pulled his hat downwards across his face as he slowly leaned against the oak. Glittering specs of light littered the leaves above him as if the sun had cast stars of its own.

He sat, then slouched, back against the bark still. Through the cotton of his shirt he could feel the coarse edges of the random shapes in the wood. The hard surface of the tree was somewhat counteracted by an almost soft interior and as he leaned back into it it felt as if the tree took shape around him, cradling his posture. A breeze took flight and some leaves were shook free from the bough, one of them landing in Johnny’s idle hand. He pushed his hat upwards and positioned the leaf between his forefinger and thumb and twirled it at the stem and thought of her. On that stage. Pirouetting as fast as she could.

He looked upwards into the rolling hills and let the wind take his thoughts.

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