Dear Dorianne Laux 2021

From Vikas, Grade 11

Dear Dorianne Laux,

I was fortunate enough to read your poem “The Life of Trees” in my English class. After analyzing, scrutinizing, and contemplating each line, I was able to draw distinct parallels between my life and the life of trees. I feel that humanity could learn a lot from your poem, especially during this pandemic, regarding what the lives of trees would look like if they weren’t inanimate objects.

I found that the free-verse of the poem accurately represented the life of the trees as they are free-flowing “beings / from the muted world who care / nothing for Money, Politics, Power, / Will or Right, who want little from the night / but a few dead stars going dim.” In the hectic lives we live in, it’s good to sometimes take a step back and enjoy the world from the perspective of trees. One hobby that I was able to pick up during the pandemic was gardening. Interacting with nature through this newfound appreciation of gardening has given me a reason to love the world we live in. In my family’s garden we plant a variety of different vegetables used in Indian cooking such as snake gourd, okra, and eggplant. We not only plant vegetables but also have a separate area for mint, basil, curry leaves, and other herbs that produce a fresh aroma that envelopes my entire house. Did you ever have a garden or any other interests that helped you generate ideas for your poems? I read that you grew up in a suburban area just like me and was also wondering, how greatly did the freedom to explore your surrounding environment impact your future as a writer?

I am a bit afraid of what the future holds for trees. Just a few years back, my hometown was filled with fields of nature. Now it seems that almost every day a new attraction is being built to commercialize an area that was once fluid. I loved the lines, “If trees could speak, / they wouldn't, only hum some low / green note, roll their pinecones / down the empty streets and blame it, / with a shrug, on the cold wind.” As the child of two Indian immigrants, those lines immediately struck me with comparisons to the peaceful protests of Mahatma Gandhi. Similar to Gandhi, trees use their silence as a weapon against the ever-changing world we live in. How do you believe trees would react towards a conflict similar to what Mahatma Gandhi faced?

Out of the entire poem, I found the last line, “And though the stars / return they do not offer thanks, only / ooze a sticky sap from their roundish/concentric wounds, clap the water / from their needles, straighten their spines / and breathe, and breathe again”, a fitting end to cap off your personification of the trees. I was not only able to see the tree in the night sky but also picture its scent, feeling, and voice. Why did you want to end the poem with the imagery of a tree in the “spangled dark”?

After reading through this poem filled with correlations to my own life, your words have made me rethink my daily routine. Now I take a few minutes out of each day to take a walk and feel the nature around me. I have picked up gardening once again, as I have now realized that trees

and the nature around us will be our mark on the next generation. They were born long before us and will die long after, trees are an everlasting constant and we must do what we can to preserve them. I can’t thank you enough for the nostalgia you have provided me. Not only that but you have also given me a new view of what the world should look like after I pass.

Sincerely,

Vikas

Dear Vikas-

Thank you for your letter and your story of gardening during the pandemic. I loved hearing about the kinds of vegetables and herbs you tended and then brought into your family kitchen and cooked, filling the house with the aromas that rose out of your hard work. What a wonderful way to give a gift to yourself during this difficult time, and then give that gift to your family.

I grew up in the suburbs of San Diego, California where the earth was tough and only the most tenacious plants grew in the hard-packed earth beneath the hot sun, mostly sagebrush and scrub oak. But behind my house there was a canyon and I spent all my days there, catching lizards and horny toads, building forts out of cardboard. I’d crawl under the shade and read a book. Coming from a big noisy family, I enjoyed being alone, being close to the earth, smelling the lemony, minty scent of dusty sage. This is when and where I began writing. Now I live in Richmond, California and have a garden here in my backyard where I’ve had more luck with flowers than vegetables. I have planted some milkweed in pots that the endangered monarch butterflies like to lay their eggs in, and a lantana bush out front where they collect pollen for their long flight back to Mexico. My husband raises bees and they love the lantana, too! We have the best tasting honey every year.

I’m also concerned about the future of trees. Global warming has put them in danger with fires and floods, clear-cutting, the loss of open land. There is a website you might like that tells you how to grow a “tiny forest” on a small plot of earth, and shows you the interconnectedness of trees, how they depend on each other to grow healthy. https://ideas.ted.com/how-to-grow-your-own-tiny-forest/

I think the trees, like Mahatma Ghandi, show us how to live a peaceful life, show us how giving to one another is the most important thing on earth. Trees are models for how to live, like Ghandi was our model, all over the world, showing us how silence can be powerful.

I think it was the poem that wanted to begin with image of the spangled dark, the stars, the quietude and solace that the evening can bring to us at the end of day. The poem wanted to begin at the end, and end at the beginning, with the breath. In the same way, I like how your letter ends with the future in mind, wondering what you can do now that will leave something lasting and eternal in your wake. What a wise and caring wish.

And with that, I wish you and your family all the best. Thank you again for your lovely letter.

Yours,

Dorianne

From Ferial, Grade 8

Dear Ms. Dorianne Laux,

My name is Ferial, and I am a 14-year-old in 8th grade.

As I scrolled through the list of poets for this Dear Poet project, your poem was the one that connected with me most. I felt that it described the most beautiful and admirable elements of nature and its life. My thoughts, following those of admiration, were those of curiosity, wondering if the trees in this poem are an outlet for expressing something deeper and if you’re using them as a metaphor for something else.

While reading your poem, “Life of Trees”, I was incredibly curious as to how you came to write it. The more I read it, the more I discovered about nature and its connection with humans. What was your writing process, and how did you select specific details and descriptive language? There seems to be a lot of richness and layers of meaning and emotion, and I cannot help but wonder how it was born, and by what it was inspired.

I interpret “Life of Trees” to be a snapshot and analogy of the world around us, capturing the essence and minds of trees. A work of observation on every level, inspired by our own lives. I see it even as much more, and I am eager to discover the hidden meanings and inspirations behind the words that have been taken from your own life experience.

beings

from the muted world who care

nothing for Money, Politics, Power,

Will or Right, who want little from the night

but a few dead stars going dim, a white owl

lifting from their limbs,

The passage above is one of my favorite parts of the poem. It is written so subtly and beautifully with such powerful underlying meaning.

I figure it must be nice to be satisfied with the stars like they are.

Unlike how many people remain unsatisfied with their lives no matter what it brings them. I often wish humanity was able to view the world through the lens of this poem. Through the lens of the trees.

Through this passage, I feel the pain and the beauty, the simplicity and the complexity of everything around me. It connects me with the heavy pulse, the hum in the wind, and the breath of trees. It is almost incredibly painful the way it is all they want. Among all space, the universe, and this planet, they want very little. There is something quite painful about it that I just cannot put a finger on.

When I near the end of the poem, I feel like I am saying goodbye to family and friends after a gathering and a long night. I am walking to my car, the path illuminated by only a few outdoor lights. The night cold and windy, the noise of the trees pushing through and around the wind. I feel like I am breathing with the trees, the rise and fall of my chest perfectly inline.

Each breath is deep and full of fresh air that the trees have given to us. I feel like I have just closed a book that I will now call my favorite. The kind of book and the kind of ending that makes you sit for a while with your eyes squinted just so in admiration and bewilderment. I feel like I have just woken from a dream. Woken up and walked over to my window seat, sitting and watching the sunrise behind the silhouette of trees.

I feel like I have lived differently, that I have experienced and revisited a plethora of emotions that I have experienced in my lifetime.

I have gotten slightly carried away with this letter, even after condensing my initial 4 page thoughts, but there is just so much that I connect to and wish to express. Thank you for taking the time to read my thoughts and responses to your wonderful work, and thank you for creating poems like these for all people to consume, and for all people to hopefully experience and enjoy the way I have.

Sincerely,

Ferial

Dear Ferial-

Thank you for choosing my poem and writing me this wonderful letter. You have such a careful and loving eye and ear for poetry, and such a curious mind and spirit. I love your line: “It connects me with the heavy pulse, the hum in the wind, and the breath of trees.” Also your insight about the pain implicit in the simple desire of trees, how they want so very little, and yet of course what they want is what we all want: the breath of life. I guess that is the metaphor you were asking about, we are like the trees in our desire. Our desires are often simple too, like yours, to be with family, friends, to walk out to your car into the cold and windy night and feel loved, to breathe in the fresh air, watch the sunrise, and simply sit and remember, as if you’ve just woken from a dream.

I think this feeling is universal. This is an article I read that you might like about how trees give us a sense of happiness: https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20170811-what-can-trees-teach-us-about-life-and-happiness

And you might like this little animated film about one man and his trees: https://vimeo.com/57251210

Also, I see that your name means “beauty of light” or “justice”, in Persian. So, I wish you the beauty of trees, which is the beauty of light. And may you live, like the trees, a long and just life.

Yours,

Dorianne

From Desi, Grade 10

Dear Ms. Laux,

Since I was young, I've thought of what it would be like to live as a dog, or a cat, or a flower or a tree. Sure in school we're told the trees are alive. They're alive and they make their own food! Of course they're alive, they grow, they survive! They're alive without the burden of "Money, Politics, Power, Will or Right" (that was my favorite line). To me, trees are the elephants of the plant kingdom, offering peace and stability and wisdom to the flowers. Your poem put my childhood thoughts into concise words. To live as a tree would be a responsibility. Not one of dreadful, looming deadlines and stressed nights, but one that keeps everything in its place and order. Thank you for teaching me to live as a tree.

Love,

Desi

Dear Desi-

Thank you for your letter. I like the way you have always wondered what it would be like to live as a dog or cat, a flower or a tree. I think we all secretly imagine what it would be like to see the world through the eyes of another creature. I remember once when my daughter was young and came running back to me breathless from the pond saying “Mom, I love the eyes of those ducks! I don’t think they have seen one bad thing or had one bad thought.” I will never forget her joy and sense of wonder and discovery.

That’s how I feel when I write poetry. Like I’m seeing through the eyes of my daughter, or a duck! And how you made me see trees with new eyes when I read your line “To me, trees are the elephants of the plant kingdom.” Now that you’ve written that, I will never see a tree without thinking of the wise old elephant.

I also remember Mr. Rogers saying ““When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” It makes me think how when I’m scared or stressed, I look at the trees, and now I know why. They offer, as you say, peace and stability and wisdom. Now, I look also for people who offer those things, people who are responsible and know how to keep, as you say, everything in its place and order.

We have so much to learn from trees, and I’ve learned so much from you and your words. I also love your little picture of a tree, its half smile and winking eye!

Yours in trees.

Dorianne

P.S. I thought you might like this website about elephant trees: https://www.desertusa.com/flora/elephant-tree.html

And this picture of an “elephant tree” in Thailand which is a wooden elephant with a tree growing on its back.

From Lucy, Grade 11

Dear Dorianne Laux,

I read The Life of Trees and it resonates in my bones: parts of my being that will endure as long as they are not destroyed. While the rest may become undistinguishable in the soil, I feel the words in a way that will last beyond extinction. I spoke through a grin as I read aloud, “If trees could speak, they wouldn't, only hum some low green note, roll their pinecones down the empty streets and blame it, with a shrug, on the cold wind”. And then I it read over. I was wondering if the concepts of which you wrote in this poem were paths of thought that you had mulled over for some time? If not, do you often find yourself thinking about such ideas?

This poem is so true: veracity only bested by the trees.

In the search for truth, whatever that may be, I’ve found it most consistently in the greenery. Though I know the sky and the ocean are truer than true, I do not understand the currents or wind, like I do the wood. Even better, the way snow weighs on pine: I have a hard time conjuring any vision or thought more sincere. For the trees have no alternative motive: “beings /from the muted world who care /nothing for Money, Politics, Power, /Will or Right”.

Truth is often soft, like that pine snow. Perhaps it is one’s aversion to softness that inspires their resentment towards poetry. Poetry only requires words and to be called poetry (not necessarily by the author), for it to qualify as such. Some, refusing space in that allusiveness is meant to thrive, say they never could like poetry, and so they never will. Frightened by their natural malleability, they hide behind stark stances and slabs of stone. The stone that refuses the chisel, and decisiveness that rejects another voice: these are rigid minds (much unlike that pine snow).

And it is precisely artificial, just like hate and tense lungs. No, nature is suggestive. Ground is never the same. Nature is reason, even in its decay. Nature is reason, even in its droughts and hurricanes, prey and preying. Nature remains reasonable as it is interrupted by unwavering greed. As the falling water freezes, it wants to fall again, if we ever let it breathe. An insistent reminder that we, we are the only things here that have not learned to lean with, nature, we destroy with our schemes.

Trees are only honest. They remind me always to breathe. We take advantage of their kindness, too. Their gentle offering of warmth and letter material. I humbly suggest that the only thing we have collectively learned how to do, is overkill. How cruel? Cruel to forsake the very things that remind one of humanity. The trees: they nudge us towards being.

I hear it in hushed queries from the wood. Who are you when you are alone with the trees?

Thank you for your words,

Lucy

Dear Lucy-

What a true and searching letter you have written. There is so much wisdom in your words, your vision of the future. And your sense of humor! I love that you see the playfulness in those lines you quote. I guess I always loved this old song called “I Talk to the Trees” from this old Broadway show called “Paint Your Wagon”. It begins:

I talk to the trees

But they never listen to me

I talk to the stars

But they never hear me.

The breeze hasn't time

To stop, and hear what I say

I talk to them all

In vain…

Anyhow, those lines always stuck with me and I think they must have been somewhere in my mind when I wrote “The Life of Trees”, wondering what it would be like if the trees could talk, could say what they’re thinking. But of course, I come to the conclusion that even if they could speak, they wouldn’t, I guess because they seem so wise.

And yes, filled with the truth of being. I love how you say nature is suggestive which feels very true. That nature is reason, even when it seems unreasonable, unseasonable. And your image of the softness of snow on a pine branch is so tender, such a fabulous metaphor. But the line I love the most is when you say “As the falling water freezes, it wants to fall again…”. As if spring wants to follow winter, is waiting inside the frozen water to bring the earth, after its long rest, back into bloom.

I think you are right, trees nudge us toward being. Remind us of ourselves. I have always loved the opening of a poem by Larry Levis, called “Adolescence” in which he describes trees:

Our babysitter lives across from the Dodge Street cemetery,

And behind her broad, untroubled face.

Her sons play touch football all afternoon

Among the graves of clerks and Norwegian settlers.

At night, these huge trees, rooted in such quiet,

Arch over the tombstones as if in exultation,

As if they inhaled starlight.

Their limbs reach

Toward each other & their roots must touch the dead.

In another poem called “The Two Trees” he says:

I still had two friends, but they were trees.

One was a box elder, the other a horse chestnut.

I used to stop on my way home & talk to each

Of them…

"Everything I have done has come to nothing.

It is not even worth mocking," I would tell them

And then I would look up into their limbs & see

How they were covered in ice. "You do not even

Have a car anymore," one of them would answer.

All their limbs glistening above me,

No light was as cold or clear.

I got over it, but I was never the same…

***

I love the odd humor of those lines, spoken by the trees.

And you, you are a poet when you end your letter with the words:

“I hear it in the hushed queries from the wood. Who are you

when you are alone with the trees?”

For me, I become quiet and more of myself, reminded, like you, of my humanity.

Yours among the trees,

Dorianne

From Ava, Grade 12

Dear Dorianne Laux,

I am frustrated. I am frustrated because I want to live the simple life of a tree, but I feel as if I will never be able to. I am scared society is running too far from the natural world, too far from morality, and too far from decency. Your poem made me realize that as humans, we are too concerned with ourselves and that we care way too much about insignificant things. Speaking to my own experiences, I often feel out of place in a school where girls give so much meaning to social media likes, parties, and popularity. Sometimes I pretend to value such trivial things in order to fit in, but deep down I am grounded like the trees.

You put everything I feel, everything I believe, and everything I want for society into one work of literature. “The Life of Trees” is a piece I wish everyone would read; I wish everyone would feel the way you, the trees, and I feel. As I read your poem, I realized that our lives are worth the same as a trees’. We share the same purpose: to survive and reproduce. As humans, we make life much more complicated than it needs to be. I now see that the earth is split in half: one half is a loud world composed of the human race and its materialism, and the other half is a muted world composed of nature and its trees. Humans worry about money, politics, and power, while trees worry about sunlight, water, and nutrients. The difference here is clear. Humans have such self-serving needs, and trees have purely survival-based needs. Yes, with great humor, I want to live the life of a tree. Your words “Clouds shredding like ancient lace above their crowns” paint a picture in my head of the calm, minimalist life I could live.

Why can’t we shrug when things go wrong? Why do we fear so much, while the trees, “they fear nothing but the Hurricane, and Fire.” Why is it so hard for us to find simplicity in life? I am curious, how do you maintain simplicity in your life? How do you find balance between the materialistic world and the natural world? Finally, if you were given the choice to be a human or a tree, which life would you choose? Thank you for inspiring me.

Best,

Ava

Dear Ava-

Like you, I worry for the natural world. And I know what you mean when you say you sometimes pretend to value trivial things in order to fit in, but know more what you mean when you say that deep down you are grounded. This is so important. You do not lie to yourself. You know when you are pretending and why. It’s only a matter of time before you decide to come down on the side of your own values and your true nature. This doesn’t mean you need to say a word of it to others, but be a tree, and turn your leaves toward the sun, give shade to those who need a place to rest, bloom when it’s time and feed the bees, provide a nest for the squirrels, and give your bounty, your beauty, to the world, for free. Sometimes, when we’re quiet and simply stand our ground, it’s more powerful than words.

When I was a young girl I read a book that would change my life, the way I saw life, and became a metaphor for what I wanted to do with my poetry. It takes place in Williamsburg, Brooklyn and it’s called A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, by Betty Smith. Here’s the prologue to her book:

“There's a tree that grows in Brooklyn. Some people call it the Tree of Heaven. No matter where its seed falls, it makes a tree which struggles to reach the sky. It grows in boarded-up lots and out of neglected rubbish heaps. It grows up out of cellar gratings. It is the only tree that grows out of cement. It grows lushly . . . survives without sun, water, and seemingly without earth. It would be considered beautiful except that there are too many of it.”

If you look that tree up on the internet it says: The Tree of Heaven, or Ailanthus, gained fame in 1943 as a symbol of endurance in Betty Smith's A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. In this book about a plucky, determined girl from the tenements of Brooklyn, the tree seemed to embody her spirit. It thrived in cities while other plants withered.

Betty Smith made this tree famous. I love her for that, and for her book, which became like a friend to me in my lonely childhood. I felt frustrated in the same way you are, and this book spoke to me and helped me understand people, and to love them, faults and all. I knew then I wanted to write poems about people, ordinary people whose lives are worthy, who would be considered weeds except that if you look closely, they are beautiful.

One way I find balance between the materialistic world and the natural world is by living simply, going to Goodwill for my clothes, not buying anything I can’t afford, and always saving 10% of every penny I earn so I always have something to give. One thing I give to is trees. I donate money to the Save the Redwoods League here in California where I live. https://www.savetheredwoods.org/redwoods/?gclid=Cj0KCQjwu7OIBhCsARIsALxCUaP_3K3TSscZHvlQZc7Ltrk14MumvFLyyNqzjyirDWuA8JLIGPNGxHoaAv5mEALw_wcB

It’s a wonderful organization. I see on your school website the link: https://treesny.org/ a youth program that plants, preserves and protects trees in New York City. You can become an urban forester or a citizen pruner! It’s a great way to help with that frustration you feel. Action!! I find that if I sit and stew on the things that frustrate me, I fester, but when I take action, I feel powerful. I like knowing I am helping to protect the trees I love, and I think you might like knowing you are helping the trees of your own town.

And, I write poems. If I was given a choice to come back after I die as anything I wanted, I would return as a tree. But I’m also glad I was born a human, so I can write about the trees, and people, and this life on earth which I am so grateful for, so amazed by, and that never stops offering me its beauty if I’m simply willing to stop and look.

And it isn’t always easy, but when things go wrong, I try to laugh, pretend I’m a tree, and just shrug it off.

Yours in the simple life,

Dorianne

From Ellie, Grade 9

Dear Dorianne Laux,

My name is Ellie, and I’m a freshman at Nest+m in Manhattan, New York. I’m writing in regards to your poem, “Life of Trees.” It confused me, and helped me, and made me think about life in wholly new ways. Above all, it reminded me to breathe, and for that I can’t thank you enough.

I've never been much of an outdoorsy person - mostly because I’ll scream my lungs out when a bug lands on me - but I have found myself to be fascinated by nature. I think that all humans are fascinated by nature to some extent, because it possesses something that people rarely ever do. It’s peaceful. For trees, plants, clouds, and butterflies, peace seems to come naturally. As you said, it’s because trees don't care about politics, or money, or power. They don't need prayer to find solace. They just exist, and exist without yearning for meaning or to have place in this world. They have a place, and that place is wherever their roots have buried themselves in the dirt. Wherever they are right now, that is their place. They don't need a job, they don't need God. They just exist.

I've wanted to exist for so long now. I’ve just started highschool, where the idea that you have to fight to be seen is so deeply ingrained. Fighting to feel like a living thing who deserves love is exhausting. To constantly feel the need to crawl your way out of obscurity and into something that’s worthy of life is just the worst feeling. I think trees are too confident in themselves to ever feel like that.

Your poem reminds me of “The Giving Tree,” by Shel Silverstein. Maybe it’s just because they both have “tree” in the title, but I feel like they’re connected in more ways than just that. I remember being depressed by “The Giving Tree” as a kid, which is probably not the intention of the book. But I couldn’t help it, because all I could think when flipping through those pages was how selfish that kid was, and how much of a pushover the Giving Tree was. Now, I don’t see the Giving Tree as a pushover. I see it as a thing who has its priorities straight, which I admire and envy all at once.

When it comes down to it, trees aren’t dumber than humans. They’re not less advanced - they simply have their priorities in other places. They prioritize living and love. They prioritize breathing. We can all learn a thing or two from that.

This leads me to the question, does peace come from getting your priorities straight? I’m not sure, and I don’t think I’m going to be able to figure it out anytime soon. For now, let’s just all keep remembering to breathe. (If you do it, I will!)

Sincerely,

Ellie

Dear Ellie-

Thank you for your letter and for your assertion that trees have a place wherever they’ve buried themselves in the dirt, wherever they are right now. Good advice for us humans who search so hard for a place to be, to belong.

I feel your struggle to be seen, heard, feel worthy. Yes, confidence is key. The trees seem to know that, to know who they are and why they’re here. They calm us down, slow our breath, sway gracefully above us, rooted fast to the home they’ve made.

I’m so heartened to hear that you see that “Giving Tree” in a new way now, not as a “pushover”, but as an entity that has her priorities straight! Living and love. It seems so simple and yet it doesn’t always feel so simple.

I wonder if this is what poetry can sometimes offer us, a chance to consider or reconsider our priorities. If nothing else, they give us a moment or two to lose ourselves in another world, another time and space, to see through another set of eyes. To get out of ourselves for a while and free float so that when we come back down to earth we feel lighter, a little more sure of who we are. Another word for priorities is choices. We all make them, every day, and those choices we make tell us who we are as well as who we hope to be. And yes, those choices should give us a sense of peace. Here are two poems I’ve always loved about that that gave me a great sense of peace: "Choices" by Tess Gallagher—The poet here makes not just one choice, but many, deciding what’s important to her by what she doesn’t do. This poem made me decide what I do and why. To consider how my choices affect others.

And this one, by that wise old poet you may have heard of, Robert Frost:

The Road Not Taken

BY ROBERT FROST

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

Both of those poems make me feel more confident in myself. One poem makes a choice for others, the other a choice for the self. One choice is from knowledge, one from lack of knowledge. Both are confident in the choice they made. They have their priorities straight! Does it make them happy? The choice to leave the birds their homes must bring the poet a sense of peace. The road not taken? He says it’s made all the difference though we don’t know what that was exactly, but he seems to be at peace with it. I do know the bad choices I’ve made in my life have taught me how to make the better choice next time, and none of us escapes bad or at least uninformed choices. And I do know that poems have helped me to become who I am, to feel confident that I belong here.

And thank you for reminding me to breathe. Let’s breathe together in this world that is ours.

Yours,

Dorianne

Dear Dorianne Laux 2021

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Dorianne Laux reads "The Life of Trees"

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