In the Woodlot

S Thorndyke



J Z Morrison Press on Smashwords

In the Woodlot
© 2013 by S Thorndyke
Cover art by

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In the Woodlot

Because too many people had come to the house Walter walked out back into the woodlot behind, an eighty-acre greenway he'd played in since he'd first found out how to sneak through the fence, over the fence, or as now through the gate on wood hinges his father had set in.

Moon just a hair shy of full--bright enough to cast shadows on lead litter and duff cloaking the woodlot's floor--working its way among bracnhes beginning to leaf out, not that Walter needed much to follow his customary course to the river bank.

Butternuts, English and black walnut trees stood here and there, more along that other species, and their margins marked with plants known set off by their habit of convincing soil not to host growth in others. Hackberries, in fact, seemed to defy them and invite others close--currents melting into mulberries and elderberries, and then into quince and chokcherry on the open margin, eleagnus with sour berries in the dapple. Walter's father called them cartels, a group of plant which conspire to aid each other in their interplanting from root in soil, in air and on ground.

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