“Think Spring” was not a phrase Amos Waterford ever thought. But he quite liked trees in winter, as they figured out what they wanted to be when they grew up. From his green room in the little red house Amos grew up in, he could sit by his window and hear them talk to each other and watch them bump limbs as the wind wound around them.
I could tell you Amos was given this wooden block because someone loved him and knew him. But that’s not the truth. Sometimes falsehoods are brighter to the mind. The thing is, Amos never knew who left the gift for him on the little red house’s front step. He never knew what to do with it. Or what it meant.
“Maybe you should ask the trees what it wants to be,” I said to him.