each branch tells a different story, the spring allows them to begin to cover up for
all the awful things they've done, to others, themselves. the awful things that has happened
to them. so no one can ever see what harm has been done to them, the summer leaves
them covered in new stories, stories that eventually die and turn into nothing but ways
to help feed the tree. then the fall comes, thaws out everything good. all the stories
fall away with the wind, leaving the tree naked. a skeleton. the winter comes, leaving
each branch completely exposed. like tearing the flesh off a human, it leaves the tree
with nothing. nothing but it's exposed lies, truths, stories and it's skeleton.
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