Secrets

The pine trees lining the driveway murmured amongst themselves, the inconsiderate bastards.  Don’t they know it’s rude to exclude people from a conversation?  I need to know what they are saying.  They might be plotting an ambush on my car during the next storm, hosting a flock of insolent birds with digestive troubles, creeping under the driveway with their roots, preparing to burst forth and tear the pavement into pebbles. 

That’s alright.  I have a lot of patience.  And a chainsaw.

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