A hole, smooth around the edges, thrusting out of the ground, moss forming a bed within it, triangular in shape, encompassed by a massive tree, eons high. It is a leprechaun hidey hole, eternally safe from prying eyes of those that think they can see, but can’t even begin to imagine. A Sequoia, or maybe a Redwood, it’s branches escaping humans who wish to climb. Ragged bark, careful, slivers are toxic and cause much pain, the squirmy, nauseating kind that hurts almost as much to take out as it is to leave in. Of the Pine family, though others of the species hang their heads ecause of their shrunken size in comparison. A giant, necks creaking on heads as eyes struggle o see the top. Minds can not begin to imagine the life it’s led, all it has seen, the world shrinking around it. While the leprechauns dance within their home in the roots.