The old tree looked dead but the mountain behind it grabbed her interest. She had to get closer and examine the interesting rock formations. They looked like ancient decorations to a lost city, possibly hidden behind the facade. As she neared five hundred feet, a force was pushing her away.
I missed the "old tree" requirement and darn, I can't edit now, but obviously, I can replace the "little tree" with "old tree" which actually I like even more. 😉
You can easily edit any of your comments, Deborah, and any of your stories anywhere after they have been posted. Just click on the three little dots on the far right of your last line and make your changes. (Thank you, Substack!)
Go to your own personal comment. Just below your comment you see "like" "reply"and "share" and farther to the right near the margin are three dots. Click the dots,and it will offer "delete" or "edit". Try again, Deborah. You'll find it.
That tree knows more than I do. Been there so long, seen so much. That tree knows how to survive. Survive droughts. Survive floods. Survive storms. What does it know that I don’t? Does my intelligence better equip me to survive? Not that I can see, and I have eyes.
They said there’d be mighty harvests. Green walnuts in June or stay patient and turn them into oil. He looked up, season after season. Nothing. Useless tree, they all said. He smiled to himself. Gazing up at the old tree, he imagined the swing soaring and his grandchildren’s joyful shrieks.
The old maple tree’s sap was rising. I drilled holes in the trunk, southeast side. I hammered in spigots, sap dripped into hanging pail’s from the metal flange. Every day emptied until I finally filled a gallon jug. Boiled the life out of the sap—sugar spoonful my reward.
Hand of God, fiction
The old tree looks like a deformed hand protruding from the top of the desolate mesa.
If it can survive here, so can we. Ultimately, it’s where we settle.
The Hand of God becomes our meeting place, lookout point, and source of hope.
Time passes. Wars wage. Still, it stands.
(I imagined seeing the tree atop the mesa. Though not a direct take on the photo, I am grateful for the inspiration, John!)
Wonderful analogy!
Very much appreciated, Sunil! Thank you.
Still it stands! Excellent parable - much needed these days, Justin.
Thanks my friend!
"The Hand Of God"...perfect place to be, like the tree, surviving through the generations. Love the image, Justin.
Thank you, Sharon!
Rock Formations
The old tree looked dead but the mountain behind it grabbed her interest. She had to get closer and examine the interesting rock formations. They looked like ancient decorations to a lost city, possibly hidden behind the facade. As she neared five hundred feet, a force was pushing her away.
Great first line, Kim. I like how you tied it all together!
Thanks, Justin! I love Fridays!
Deep Roots, Fiction
Ted had known the giant oak for each of his 75 years.
It lay, uprooted, on what had been Matt’s house.
“Never trusted the old tree.”
Ted corrected his son, defending his deciduous counterpart.
“That thing, horizontal, disconnected from the soil. That’s not my tree, it’s just a goddamn log.”
Excellent, Scott! I really like his defense.
Thx yours too. Great prompt!
"His deciduous counterpart." Classic!
Loyal buddy!
Old guys gotta stick together😎
(I adapted one of my short stories from last year for this 50-word challenge)
THE FEAST
The poor creature hangs from the curved fangs of the Night-hunter. Near death, final breath, oozing blood, the shrieks have mercifully ended.
She carries the corpse to The Old Tree, in extremis, lays it down, gnaws off the head, licks her gory claws.
The nightly bloodbath of the felis catus.
Gruesome kitty! I remember this short story, Sharron. Thank you for adapting and sharing here with us!
Ouch!! That is quite the scene of a murder...I envision yellow "crime tape", and all the neighborhood cats, milling about. Great piece!!
ha ha ha. Yes. the CSI team (Cat Slay Investigation)
Trees Can Walk (Fiction)
The old tree whispers into the young boy’s ear, “I have a secret for you.”
“You do?” questions the boy.
“Yes. I can walk.”
“Is that possible? You’ve stood here for 150 years.”
“Your eyes deceive you. With miniscule steps I alter my position. Humans do not recognize the change.”
What a fun concept. The tree in the story is correct…we probably wouldn’t notice!
Thank you Justin
Love this!
Thank you for reading it Deborah
You're welcome!
Ooo. Clever. Give it time, who knows how far it will go!
Thanks for the encouragement. Group sets some pretty high standards here and I'm pleased that you read it.
Earth Song/Poem
The wind
soft and caressing
Earth sharing her music
Her stories
history
Echoes of ancient songs
surround the little tree
with memories of summers past
Vibrant colors,
summer warmth,
hope for the future
The little tree remembers!
Abundance
Green!
It's tiny buds singing!
Vibrating
It's story
joining the earth's chorus.
I missed the "old tree" requirement and darn, I can't edit now, but obviously, I can replace the "little tree" with "old tree" which actually I like even more. 😉
Oh don’t ever worry, Deborah! It’s all good. This is all just for fun anyway. 😀
What a lovely poem.
Playing a bit more with format on this one ...
Earth Song/Poem
The wind
soft and caressing
Her stories
Echoes of ancient songs
Earth sharing her music
history surrounds the old tree
With memories of summers past
vibrant colors,
The old tree remembers
It's tiny buds singing!
Summers warmth,
hope for the future
Abundance
Green!
Vibrating
It's story
joining the earth's chorus.
You can easily edit any of your comments, Deborah, and any of your stories anywhere after they have been posted. Just click on the three little dots on the far right of your last line and make your changes. (Thank you, Substack!)
Hmmm...the only options that appear are to "hide" it, "delete" it, or "share" it? No edit option?
Go to your own personal comment. Just below your comment you see "like" "reply"and "share" and farther to the right near the margin are three dots. Click the dots,and it will offer "delete" or "edit". Try again, Deborah. You'll find it.
The Tree-fiction
That tree knows more than I do. Been there so long, seen so much. That tree knows how to survive. Survive droughts. Survive floods. Survive storms. What does it know that I don’t? Does my intelligence better equip me to survive? Not that I can see, and I have eyes.
We went in a similar direction—nicely done!!
Harvest of Joy (fiction)
They said there’d be mighty harvests. Green walnuts in June or stay patient and turn them into oil. He looked up, season after season. Nothing. Useless tree, they all said. He smiled to himself. Gazing up at the old tree, he imagined the swing soaring and his grandchildren’s joyful shrieks.
What an important story for these times, Barrie! Thanks for spreading the joy. 😀
I’m such a softy as a grandpa!
Lovely, Barrie. A useless tree is still a home for birds, bugs and rodents! Not to mention , ahem, firewood. Never a useless tree!
So true. We have a dead apple tree that is home to so many creatures. I love it.
The Twist
___
Two women stand before the mirror,
generations apart,
like rings of an old oak tree.
.
The older’s wedding bands
gleam as she twists the younger’s hair.
In the quiet, unspoken desire lingers.
.
Their hands almost touch, then retreat,
leaving behind the heavy weight of what cannot be said or done.
Powerful work as always, Gloria! Thank you for sharing.
A passionate little enigma, Gloria. That last line knocks me out.
Sugar Maple Syrup (Fiction)
The old maple tree’s sap was rising. I drilled holes in the trunk, southeast side. I hammered in spigots, sap dripped into hanging pail’s from the metal flange. Every day emptied until I finally filled a gallon jug. Boiled the life out of the sap—sugar spoonful my reward.
A very sweet reward for a lot of work! Nice one, Richard.
Thank you.
The wise tree ( a poem )
You watched me grow and were my guardian for years
From a sapling I watched your happiness and your tears
Now I am your shade that embraces your fears
We are one and bloom together in the garden of yesteryears
Let's age as time flies and as our flashback endears
It’s comforting knowing the tree was there alongside the speaker/narrator all those years.
Age and Beauty, prose poem
The old tree stands in the forest, its gnarled branches reaching for the heavens.
Its roots delve deep, anchoring it firmly to the earth, a symbol of strength and resilience.
Its weathered bark, a testament to time's passage, tells tales of forgotten legends.
Battles fought, conflicts resolved, love poems whispered, forbidden desires, amid rivers of tears.
Within its core lies a secret, a beating heart, still vibrant with life's essence.
A guardian of the forest, it is a silent sentinel bearing witness to nature's constant dance.
Also, nature's reminder that even in age, beauty and vitality are waiting to unfurl.
Beautifully written, Caro!
So… I have to apologize. I completely missed the word count and just now realized it! I blame Covid brain fog. I’ll do better next time.
I completely forgot to respond to you here, Caro! Sorry about that. And oh, no worries whatsoever. It’s all good! 😊