‘You need a name,’ said Smith, peering critically up into its branches. ‘Can’t call ya sapling forever.’
Trees were good conversationalists. They knew when to stay quiet.
‘Hmm. What do you think of Hazel? Bit basic, I agree.’ She tapped her chin, settling comfortably against the roots. ‘Sunny! Thoughts on Sunny?’
Nothing from the tree.
‘You’re right, not enough sun round these parts for that. Leaverton? Nah, too fancy.’ She smiled. ‘Hmm... Woody doesn’t suit. Sides, that one’s taken.’
Wind blew mournful round the trunk.
‘Alright, fine. Moody. How about that?’
The leaves rustled indignantly, and she cracked a smile.

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