Sarah looked at the grove differently then. She no longer saw damaged bark, but a forest of elders, breathing deeply through the marks of their own history.
Elias smiled, adjust his glasses. "Those aren't tears, Sarah. Those are , or more technically, mature lenticels. When a tree is young, its skin is tight and smooth. But as it matures—as its heartwood thickens and it expands to hold more life—the outer bark has to give way. It creates those openings so it can breathe." mature slits
He led her closer, showing her how the slits allowed the internal tissues of the tree to exchange gases with the atmosphere. Without these "scars" of maturity, the tree would suffocate within its own growth. Sarah looked at the grove differently then