Now every time George looked out at the western woods he saw trees staring back at him. Good neighbors? Let’s hope!
“Neighbor,” spoke Charlie Banana later about the wood creatures, knowing them quite intimately apparently. “They prefer to be considered a collective spirit. For now. Differentiation will come later.” Charlie sure knows a lot of big words for a banana, George considers while listening to his yellow friend out in the patio again. The rain had let off except for that one spot under the umbrella, ironically. Holding the man it must be instead of visa versa; inner exchanged with exterior. Thinking of this, George realized the western woods could be haunted and not in a totally good way. And what of Charlie Banana? Perhaps not totally good himself.
“Where is that central tree again?” he asked after a period of doubt about his moral compass.
“To be determined,” came the fruit’s answer.
Sunklands 