Film-like: twisted oak in a confined classroom. The classroom is old, the desks are in neat rows, the air is humid with the grating choir of wooden floorboards. Ivy creeps unrurily all about the floor. Emptied of the laughter of children, the classroom contains a sacred, still kind of silence- the silence of the woods. The oak is beautiful, very beautiful and very old. His arms pierce the rooftops, and below, the rotting wooden floorboards. The tree is in agony, I can feel it. I am doing a documentary about this. The oak's tragedy of getting trapped in a confined space- the whole internal monologue. 


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