The penultimate day. Sniff!
You don’t expect to hear whispers in the forest, but then you don’t expect to meet a tree like me.
Tree is a technical term. I’m very old, and the Greeks knew all about me. All dismissed as superstition and ignorance. Even though these were the people who invented trigonometry and democracy.
So I’m not really a tree. I’m something else.
It’s dull, you know, standing in this wood, watching the seasons pass by with alarming speed. Leaves on, leaves off, snow, sunshine, etc bloody etc. Back in the day I used to get some action. Those demigoddesses and vestal virgins would drop their knickers for anyone, man, tree or swan. The world’s no fun nowadays.
Now if you excuse me, I’m going to have to rustle a bit, there’s a woodpecker round the back.