There's nothing that keeps its youth, so far as I know, but a tree and truth.*

"What's that noise?" Jude asked as the maple overhanging our front walk let out a mournful wail.

"Was it a squeaky noise?" I asked Jude, wanting to make sure we were talking about the same thing.

"Yeah, kind of a squealy, squeaky noise."

I eyed the two branches that were dancing cheek-to-cheek, and replied, "I think it's this tree. Two branches are rubbing against each other."

Jude giggled.

"Yeah! The tree farted!"

*Oliver Wendell Holmes