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The Fecundity Showing nothing of what it hid invited the women to enter. Part the leaves, tuck through the branches. Under/inside the weeping beech was a wraith of limbs. The women saw where it touched the ground it rooted. Where it touched itself it cleaved. That it could make an unbroken circle of a single thick branch —— this was architecture! One woman uttered grotesque (“Oh, the monstrosity of self-generation!”) The other reveled in the monstrosity (“Oh, the fecundity of grief!”) It turned out the inside was nothing like the outside & it turned out that the truth was thrilling & what was thrilling also was vegetable.  ...

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