There is an ancient wind that haunts this tree. It doodles curly-cues of leaves and such along the asphalt ground which found it there when it had yet to be hardened to touch... There was a lap of foliage in this tree that watched the apples grow and let them go as soon as she thought they were ready to be loosed below. There’s also me. And I have climbed this tree to see what sort of wind it was that thinned the green from branches bare now as can be, and hardened tar on pint-sized pebbles where my dad’s parked car has been for long. But all I learned was that the wind was strong and made it cold enough so that I turned back earthward down the tree and left where wind did not want me to be.