Tired of resting on my laurels & sycamore, more, more society, I treed something else. ‘Went to the beech and met a nut named Ash. We became fast fronds—it helped he had weeds—I hope you conifer what I mean, wink wink

(I’m sequoia)

Anyway, we made a bract. A pithy bract, and if you’re aspen what kind of bract, well the core of it was:

f*ck yew & the horse you rhododendron…

©Karen Robiscoe