For months, the hollow oak lay in my backyard—an eyesore, then a barrier, then a mirror. Like that tree, I'd stood tall in Nashville while rotting inside. But somewhere between Syracuse's disposal and Hampton's soil, a seed found new ground.
For months, the hollow oak lay in my backyard—an eyesore, then a barrier, then a mirror. Like that tree, I'd stood tall in Nashville while rotting inside. But somewhere between Syracuse's disposal and Hampton's soil, a seed found new ground.