Thought of a Winter Oak.
‘Here he comes again, same time every day. How would he like it? I must admit it’s nice to have a bit of warmth.’
The dog and its owner stop for a moment, sniff and pee, then wander on.
‘Not even a thank you.’ Oak sighs. ‘It’s all well and good being called the king of trees in the summer, but come the winter when my skin thickens and cracks, it’s not so much fun. I can’t even pop inside for a warm. My friends who I offer a home to in other seasons have disappeared.’
The chill wind blows through what is left of Oak’s dry, crisp leaves. Making him shiver.