My backyard was as bare as a convict's head. Crusty brown earth stretched out like a sunburnt tablecloth, punctuated only by the occasional dandelion that seemed to thrive on neglect...
The backyard was my haven. Birds chirping in the ancient oak, dappled sunlight filtering through its leaves – pure bliss. But lately, that bliss had been tinged with worry. The oak, my leafy guardian, seemed… different...
