the hollow where it stood. I saw the fruiting bodies & I felt only the sadness I was supposed to feel. Which leaves the question of the tree itself, or, how am I supposed to know if this bulk of wood drying in the lumber shed is it, & not just equal to its weight? Charles, I’ll take your word for it; I understand you had some problems in France. I wasn’t there but I saw the bones upright in the churned fields like sundials, & thyme growing in the empty boots. Nowhere goes to waste & a scrap of tape comes loose & twists about the winds & settles in the branches of a tree it can’t quite, yet, bring down. This is objective & entire.

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