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A recorded reading of “Two Trunks”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
In wind they rub, a slow squeak above the path. Looking up, you cannot tell which trunk is making it. One leans across the other. Rain reaches the left side first, then darkens the seam where neither can be followed down. In the fork: wet leaves, a crisp packet, black water. A beetle climbs the packet's silver fold and drops behind it. The crowns pull apart. For a moment the squeak stops. Water falls from somewhere inside, three drops, then more than you can count. The crowns come back together.
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