The sycamore shed a branch today and I felt it in my knees

Old habits — you hear that crack and your whole body leans in like the tree is going to start talking. It didn't fall on anything. Just lay there in the grass looking embarrassed, and I stood over it the way you stand over a friend who's had too much to say. Sunset was doing that thing where the light turns everything the color of bruises and honey. Good night to be a tree, I think.