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The Oak Tree Jasmine ignored the others in the room, turned sideways in her chair and looked out the window. She tucked a blond tress behind her ear and surveyed the world on the other side of the glass. When she spotted the buds on the oak across the street, she smiled. She stared at a broken limb, its topmost branches resting on the ground. She rubbed her arm as her gaze moved up the gnarled bough to where its lightening-singed end clung to the trunk. Her eyes drew lines connecting the bruises that scarred the tree’s trunk. One at a time, she tugged on the cuffs of her blue sweater’s long sleeves. She played word association: tree, oak, sturdy, deep-rooted, resilient. The words echoed in her head until a voice chased them away. “Jasmine Archer? The doctor will see you now.” | |
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