Introduction

After years of searching, i find my father standing by the old tree he'd pruned every spring to grow leaf before the sweltering heat of our sub tropical summer. Who's there? He asks. I'm your son, dad. Diho. Your first wife's dead like you. We buried her south of benosires iso. You are interred somewhere north of the alpas mortar way. Hand sarce, nails getting rustier. A dream where the tree grows taller every time i look back.