I.

Stealth pruning is more exciting than one might imagine, she thought to herself as she shucked another spindly root from the live oak. they’d been strangling her for months, the cowards, and they could never seem to straighten up. Margaret tore them from the bark and as she pulled the bark skivvied off like decorative flakes of chocolate on a groom’s cake. no, coconut, no, almond. but who will marry me anyway, Margaret bit her cheek. she liked to sweat. it felt productive, and when the sun came just over the hedge and thundered towards her single (unanimous) tree, she felt a drop of sweat slide onto the whites of her forearm and down her wrist. it glistened in blonde hairs that burled and clung to her skin, and she thought, old marge, you’re all right. (alright).