by Victoria Buitron Patrick Janser I can taste its green — not the fresh lemony taste of citrus — but the way you suck on a papercut and the iron surges with nutrients on the tongue. I’d always been surrounded by cement, the click-clack of hurried heels on pavement. But now The Tree, an American Sycamore in the front yard with a trunk in which four of me could snuggle within its circumference, towers over our home and aspirates all the evil eye sent our way. Red cardinals swo