I saw your prompt come up on the FB newsfeed...I wish my mind worked this way -- you have some great photo prompts here. I might have to snag one sometime to use as a poem prompt! :)
There was this tree that grew at the corner of the house in our back yard. Under my window it grew. It had amazing leaves; broad and fragrant. Shiny on the top; brown bumps underneath, and abundant. I loved that tree.
My father also loved that tree. And apparently, our neighbors did as well. They could be seen coming into our yard and whispering something to my father, who would bring them around to the back of the house near my window. Many times, they traded things. The man next door would get three or four leaves. My father would always get money.
Talk around my street was that the men who came to take a part of our tree would burn the leaves rolled up in papers and breathe the smoke that hung in the air above their heads. It made me laugh when Mr. Jameson burned his bought leaves just beyond our fence, near our tree that grew under my window. It made me very hungry too, but mostly I laughed.
But it stopped being funny when they caught Mr. "J" trying to dig up our plant with the broad leaves from our backyard. They said he had gone a little berserk, ranting about how high he got from breathing the smoke near our fence. I didn't understand why he said that. The tree was only three and a half feet tall. That wasn't very high at all! It was a shame daddy had to shoot him.
Shortly after they had sent my father away when Mr. Jameson died, Mom and Grandpa Morse moved us to the big house on the hill with the money my Father had taken in trade for the leaves. But before we left, Mother had my photograph taken next to the tree. It was a strange picture, indeed. And in his last act before we left our old home, Grandpa burned the tree to the ground. The whole neighborhood was a very happy place to live from that day forward. And very hungry! What an odd tree.
I'm late, I'm late, for a very.... I think she shall be named Alice.
Trapped
It was all an evil plot to driver her mad. She hated all of it; being inside, parading around in a dress, getting pictures taken, old aunts hugging her close, ugh. Being inside though, that was the worst.
Right now there were three boys outside (and one mangy yellow cur of a dog) wondering where she was. They were supposed to be going to the creek today; everything was planned. Jimmy and Bobby were bringing the poles, Sam had the bait and she had the net. If she did not get out of here quick they would leave without her.
Her mother had not told her about this little family get together after church. It had to have been on purpose, knowing she would have snuck off otherwise. Now she was trapped. Father had caught her three times trying to get out a door. Each time he just smiled and headed her back into the gauntlet.
She stood for the picture, even smiled, in the hopes that it would serve as penance and get her released. But it was too late; she had seen them through the window heading down the walk out of town. Bobby had looked back once and the dog kept stopping and sniffing the air, like he was trying to find her.
She settled into the chair in the corner of the room, hoping to be unnoticed. She stared, transfixed, as the room began to change around her. Trees came into focus in the living room and there was a stream where the kitchen was. The door beside the fireplace melted into the garden gate and the sounds of the woods filled her ears.
Her father watched her as she dozed off in the chair, wondering about the playful smile on her sunburned face.
I saw your prompt come up on the FB newsfeed...I wish my mind worked this way -- you have some great photo prompts here. I might have to snag one sometime to use as a poem prompt! :)
ReplyDeleteThere was this tree that grew at the corner of the house in our back yard. Under my window it grew. It had amazing leaves; broad and fragrant. Shiny on the top; brown bumps underneath, and abundant. I loved that tree.
ReplyDeleteMy father also loved that tree. And apparently, our neighbors did as well. They could be seen coming into our yard and whispering something to my father, who would bring them around to the back of the house near my window. Many times, they traded things. The man next door would get three or four leaves. My father would always get money.
Talk around my street was that the men who came to take a part of our tree would burn the leaves rolled up in papers and breathe the smoke that hung in the air above their heads. It made me laugh when Mr. Jameson burned his bought leaves just beyond our fence, near our tree that grew under my window. It made me very hungry too, but mostly I laughed.
But it stopped being funny when they caught Mr. "J" trying to dig up our plant with the broad leaves from our backyard. They said he had gone a little berserk, ranting about how high he got from breathing the smoke near our fence. I didn't understand why he said that. The tree was only three and a half feet tall. That wasn't very high at all! It was a shame daddy had to shoot him.
Shortly after they had sent my father away when Mr. Jameson died, Mom and Grandpa Morse moved us to the big house on the hill with the money my Father had taken in trade for the leaves. But before we left, Mother had my photograph taken next to the tree. It was a strange picture, indeed. And in his last act before we left our old home, Grandpa burned the tree to the ground. The whole neighborhood was a very happy place to live from that day forward. And very hungry! What an odd tree.
Walt that's hilarious...
Deleteina
Bwahahaha! Only you, Walt! Guess you found your happy place, eh? ;D
DeleteLove it.
ReplyDeleteYes RJ, taking the high road to nirvana never felt so good.
ReplyDeleteI'm late, I'm late, for a very.... I think she shall be named Alice.
ReplyDeleteTrapped
It was all an evil plot to driver her mad. She hated all of it; being inside, parading around in a dress, getting pictures taken, old aunts hugging her close, ugh. Being inside though, that was the worst.
Right now there were three boys outside (and one mangy yellow cur of a dog) wondering where she was. They were supposed to be going to the creek today; everything was planned. Jimmy and Bobby were bringing the poles, Sam had the bait and she had the net. If she did not get out of here quick they would leave without her.
Her mother had not told her about this little family get together after church. It had to have been on purpose, knowing she would have snuck off otherwise. Now she was trapped. Father had caught her three times trying to get out a door. Each time he just smiled and headed her back into the gauntlet.
She stood for the picture, even smiled, in the hopes that it would serve as penance and get her released. But it was too late; she had seen them through the window heading down the walk out of town. Bobby had looked back once and the dog kept stopping and sniffing the air, like he was trying to find her.
She settled into the chair in the corner of the room, hoping to be unnoticed. She stared, transfixed, as the room began to change around her. Trees came into focus in the living room and there was a stream where the kitchen was. The door beside the fireplace melted into the garden gate and the sounds of the woods filled her ears.
Her father watched her as she dozed off in the chair, wondering about the playful smile on her sunburned face.